No comments

I chopped my life

left slices everywhere

(a slice of cake for every soul I met)

I kept my other lives in the attic of the shell

(snails have such a fascinating house)

Slices of the snail’s life carved in the shell

(some are so old I simply can’t remember them)


So many slice receivers I forgot

(counting has never been my favorite cake)

Leftovers in the attic remind me of some,

(but still I can’t remember how we met)

(I find their traces everywhere)

Or just remind me of the pain.

(Maybe I should just bake another cake.)


Image -source:

Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.