Couch is home; a poem by Andreas Blaustein

I sleep on the couch all the time
But I do have a bed in the other room
The bed is for good days in life
That’s why I never sleep there no more
Passing out on the couch
Dying alone on the couch
Movie dialogues are lullabyes
I’ll die to the credits at the end
At least I ate some pasta
Made by my own fucking hands
Entertainment and movies and couch
It’s killing me slower than time
And people would kill for my life
So why can I not be okay?
Maybe my couch has the answer

Walls are friends; a poem by Andreas Blaustein

I feel invisible
Sometimes it’s nice
Most times it’s dull
Boring and dumb
Scrolling on my phone
A meme, a video
Nothing is new
Even if it’s new
What is the point
Doing by yourself
I’m in distress
The walls must know it
But they only stare

Making pasta; a poem by Andreas Blaustein

I haven’t made pasta for a while
I only had the dried ones to eat
I had no energy or will
To make that pasta dough by hand
Today I’m making pasta again
A sign that I’m back on track

Stranger world; a poem by Andreas Blaustein

When someone you love has passed away
Your little world is standing still
The rest of the world is moving on
It’s like your brain puts you in a dream
Nothing is feeling real anymore
Maybe it’s to lessen the shock of our loss
But it doesn’t really help because you know that it’s real
As you enter a new and stranger world