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                                                DM me for what I do contact@maiviedemonat.com 
          
when i found my lover with another lover
i took a picture and hung it on my wall
it reminds me of being humble
Mark M A I V I E D E M O N A T
painfully clear

the life of a saint

unpredictability

all to the fact

that he is dead

i live on

against my will

great and selfish

sacrifice

my jazzy guilt




the trap hole

I slide my finger along the white table cloth. The rings from the whisky glass are getting darker. Spreading. Like the rings under my eyes. Spreading. I twist my wrist, a bad habit.
‘But who cares?’ I yell. My skinny voice absorbed by the street noise blowing in from the open window.

‘Who cares? Life?’.

I hate when the melancholic self-hate takes over, leaving me shivering but untouched. I twist my wrist again, close the window.
‘I don’t care. It is my life’.






i used to call men

under a woman name

i don’t recall

sometimes we talked for hours

sometimes they yelled the phone dead

didn’t matter

what we said

soon forgotten

i never called the same man twice






a day at the hospital 

the French scares me, rope in kitchen.
the German makes me smile, calls me a whore. 
the Russian has friendly, positiv eyes, doped apperance, always ready for figth. 
the Arabian lies, smiles and push us away until he lays completely still.
we are sorry but we had to.
the young girl, what is her problem ? hysteria ? 
she reminds me of Shakespear, Romeo and Juliet.
there are lots of those here, Hamlet, Faust, Romeo, Magdalena.
name it.
there are looking for the drama to end.
but we all keep writing their tales. 





she was so guillible 
she went and threw herself right into the arms of people
who broke her
she would she danger  and instead of avoiding it
like a person with sense she would walk behind its theth. 



THERE ARE MANY ADVANTAGES TO A BROKEN MIND