Fear is life itself
The taste of fear is schizoid pure and red, a piece of meat, it’s poppies lost and flown from cries in mud and trenches darkly bled. We harvested the fear […]
Category Archives: sonnet
Stars I can’t see
My skin is too thin not to write about stars cause caring’s a burden that’s heavy to bear. So I sit here writing of stars, about wind in my hair, […]
Balance of destruction
Is it treachery or sin to sense that tenderness is war and tactics? I felt neglected when you slept. I went crazy when you sighed. But when your hands in […]
A wanton moon
This wanton moon that makes me crave your innocence of marble nape my hands are ice, come be my slave I’ll steal your softness in my cape. I lust for […]
Morning on the metro
In chthonic snaking underneath we’re crammed commuting flesh to flesh; with faces luminent, as if our death: is closer now when brought us fresh a morning when from Manchester we […]
Björn Rudbergs writings 