game

like a game of hide-and-seek

we let the covers fall

once more,

one last time

for under their cover,

within their darkness,

our breaths are held in

just for one more second - 

and side by side,

we lay on the floor

ceiling above -

infinity

it is silence we've asked

silence we're given

silence

shh

and with closed eyes 

we draw:

the universe,

infinite possibilities

but none of us,

none of you,

none of me,

none

eyelids flutter open

staring into space

fingers drum along

the rhythm to kill

my ribcage open

you reach in

my screaming soul

pitifully whispering... mercy!

oh, how they twist

and turn

and break 

and burn!

your fingers,

knuckle deep sunk

claws,

forcing me open 

I keep my eyes closed

the sounds of the universe

covering my screams

and it burns

and I am water

I sizzle 

when you

sink

and you are fire

you tremble

when I

breathe

oh, the thrill of this,

this chase

where I am prey

and you, predator

until the sun rises

and my eyes open

and I, predator

eat you, prey.

bathroom floor [incomplete]

bathroom floor 

at 1am

staring into the darkness

which reaches out from the sink

bathroom floor

at 1am

reaching for the drain plug

from the tub

bathroom floor

at 1am

watching the sparks

going out of me

bathroom floor

at 1am

wondering what good

to have them all starting fires

bathroom floor 

at 1am

a shell on the shelf

whispers of lost oceans,

liquids quickly gulped down

just last week

bathroom floor

at 1am

the walls crumbling down

stone after stone

grasping

at the emptiness ahead

before turning 

into dust

bathroom floor

at 1am

who am I ?

what have I done

to put out the fire?

bathroom floor

at 1am

maybe I should just get up

...

type of wrong

center of me burns

begging for water

a hurricane to wash over

destroy and resurrect

submerge this fire

let if sizzle

like the sun does

at dusk

and when it's drowned

when it stops breathing

take your hands

and let it go

it goes and goes and goes

falling liquidly

drowning 

while the universe reverses

and planets, stars

they all align

and it floats through space

the big blue

they said it's darkness

that shines

but they've never seen

so much light

and as it travels

submerged

it loses track

of all that matters

there's the fire

sparkling

twisting

underwater

take my fire

and kill it, I asked.

don't give it wilderness

for it expands

consuming me.

feeling

i feel like i should sleep

a long, long sleep

i feel like i should lay

down beneath the sea

buried all under sand

i feel like i should mute
my thoughts, my heart
leave the static sound
to buzz on
i feel i should lay low
lower and lower
till lava engulfs me whole

i feel i shouldn't laugh
but you're staring like that...
i feel like i should move
as if possessed, a scarecrow,
a controlled puppet, i...
i feel I should flap my wings
and go

i feel i should be blue
not with sorrow, but as in the colour
i feel like i should be white
not as in the colour, but with sorrow

i feel i should be alone
but when the darkness comes, i wish
i weren't, that i won't and never will be
truly alone

i feel i should be covered in thorns
and pick at them with laughing eyes
weeping
i feel i should have the right
to curse out loud
this damned heart!

i feel i should feel you
crawling on my skin, under it,
all over my bones,
inside my dna
and drag yourself out
through my pursed lips

i feel i should let myself move
into yet another flight
which i yet postpone so eagerly
to meet a masochist ending...

i feel i should do something
yet idly i'm waiting
a continuous falling
while the entire universe is turning
spinning, growing
i shrink,
a spec of dying light

i feel i should let this ocean
swallow me whole
flood this body
flood this mind
till i am full
of you

and yet i'm staring at the moon.

supernova

Și te desprinzi, plutești în spațiul dezolant, ochi goi te privesc ca pe o pradă și așteaptă să te desprinzi total, să cazi în uitare. Și cazi, cazi, cazi... Totul e cădere, în gol și fără parașută, fără scripeți și corzi elastice, fără mâini întinse înainte. Și te ghemuiești în tine, te strângi și te-nconvoi cu ochii strâns închiși și simți cum te despoaie de tot - haine, carne, sentimente ambulante, toate se desprind și se topesc pe când tu cazi cu viteza luminii.

Arde - tu și pe interior, carcasa de carne sfârâie pe oase ce s-au frânt în gol, așteptând impactul cu fiecare secundă. Ești minge de foc pe un fundal pictat tot în negru și ești un schelet alb cu mult roșu, rupturi împletite frumos ca să te țină laolaltă în căderea ce pare numai că se multiplică. Ești un strigăt continuu într-o mare de voci și totuși nu acoperi tăcerea ce ți se afundă în piele, așa că amuțești. Și nu mai doare.

Auzi cum pârâie și oasele și mușchii, cum totul protestează și te frământă amăreala de pe limbă, că nu e sânge și totuși simți fumul, gustul de ars care pare să se tragă de la inima care bubuie și turuie. Și te strângi din nou, floare fără soare, deși strălucești precum ei toți sori pe cerul plin de stele, te strângi și te ascunzi cu inima din substanță sfărâmicioasă pentru că totul e cădere și tu ești una cu căderea în întunericul dimprejur.

Foc - pe exterior, cu limbi roșiatice ce te topesc ușor ca zâmbete însorite ce trec de tine parcă din alte timpuri, multe, îndepărtate, pătate de ploi torențiale care-au stins atâtea lumini în ochii goi ce văd acum doar abisul infinit ce se întinde înainte și împrejur, roată, roată, fără sfârșit, dens și plin de misterele multor începuturi și sfârșituri.

Foc - pe interior, cu degete metalice ce-ți împresoară inima și-o strâng și-o fac să te doară, să vrea să te rănească că doar tu ai permis să lași focul să o ademenească să dea pe dinafară. Și foc mult pe interior, incendiu forestier în păduri virgine cu scântei ce dau pe dinafară, oh, tu, lumină orbitală în plină cădere, cum poți să strălucești așa când totul se destramă și oasele ți se frâng de la cum îți înghiți scâncetele cu degetele adânc îngropate în faldurile inimii care bubuie și duduie, și dă pe dinafară. Că știi că totul e cădere, cădere fără sunet și infinită...

Traiectoria nedeterminată, te afunzi în întuneric și-l aprinzi mai tare decât o explozie solară și arzi tot mai mult pe măsură ce printre degete ți se strecoară praf din inima de tăciune sfărâmată. Pierzi ani lumină fără să încetinești și ochii prind lumini întârziate de la sori la mile depărtare, ce și ei cad să piară. Cădere - te desfaci încet de tine însăți, te dezintegrezi încă încercând să ții ascuns durerosul mod în care ți se dezlipesc celulele unele de altele și pășesc în afară, sublimul a tot ce se dezbină într-o agonie simfonică pe care tot o muști ca să o reduci la tăcere în timp ce totul în tine cântă, cântă, cântă. Te lasă fără suflare - ochi plutind la mile depărtare de unde tu ai fost odată, rămășițe din tine, acum pulbere stelară ce cade infinit și în tăcere și vezi și tu cât de frumos se vede atunci când se moare ca o stea, ușor, explozii întârziate a unui moment de supernovă...

Totul e cădere, cădere infinită și fină pulbere de stele ce se destramă ca să te alcătuiască pe tine când tu pieri încet pe interior. Moarte frumoasă cu spectacol dezolant, cu pulbere de tăciuni aprinși... așa se naște o supernovă.

turn

I seem to keep coming back when darkness hits me from the inside. I thought it gone, vanished, pulverized into tranquility... but no, it's here, banging on the inside in my chest asking to be let out. And I'm scared, terrified that once out I'll never be able to contain, fold it to the back of mind, conceal its shadows. I'm scared that I'll pick on my oldest wounds, remind my body about the thousand knives that are to come. I'm scared that once out me, the me I came to like, the me that allowed to smile even a little bit under the bandages that kept me nicely intact, the me that fought - I'm scared it will die, slowly transforming into dust.

I have darkness in me. The type of darkness you usually take to therapy has nested inside of me, its teeth of insecurities biting on my rib cage, acid tornadoes of 'maybe's and 'perhaps's wrecking the quiet settlements of my brains. This darkness forces my eyes down on the tip of my shoes and my apologies out from the tip of my tongue. This darkness chases me into complete silence, close on the right to the Oblivion. And falling is only a matter of time...

Maybe you've been there or maybe you're still there, lingering, pacing around it's edges... how did you survive your darkness? Here it's raining and light it's fading away while the number of stretched out hands gets smaller as I am forced to acknowledge the depths of this darkness, laughing back at myself while I keep silent on the outside. How do you keep yourself safe, away from falling? Is alone enough for survival? Can my fingers hold tight on the edge and not let go of them? Can I trust them and not give into temptation to just... let go?

Tell me, you who have been there, can I dress up the holes on the inside and shush down the wind that's howling... can you hear it? A deafening hiss of silence, like an invisible serpent that's in there, entwining himself around my heart and the darkness that can't wait to take over. Can I paint them over and pretend it's skin, as if I'm normal, not wounded or bleeding, not bearing old scares on my mind? Or maybe I could just empty my entire body of blood and turn into a cadaver with sparkling eyes and a smile that says "Don't mind me, everything's just fine."

I don't think you know either, how to keep on breathing when silence is so deafening, when the war itself is tired of fighting, when alone is all you have... because alone is all you have. You can surround yourself with all the humans on the planet and they can all love you strongly, deeply, 'cause you'd still be alone. Alone. Alone. Alone. It's a dramatic word, but at least it can't let you down, it doesn't give up on you when darkness pulls you under.

Maybe giving in, going under and drowning is the best my conservation instinct can come up to. If so, who am I to say no to? Drowning would still be a better exit from this scene than listening to all the raindrops falling over me while holding on the edge... yes, drowning should be warm.

And if I end up turning to the darkness, please forgive me for I'll no longer be me.

u

forgive my unworthy self

for reaching for you

i bear your slap

like a warrior his wounds

i wrap it in bloody laps

but the burn just won't go away

from my heart

these pills

happy pills

will bring a new tomorrow

when today is nothing but mud

at the bottom of a pool

these pills

if i were to swallow

i think they'd make you happy

knowing i left

drifted to another self

these pills

will make you master

while i'll fall in disgrace

like flowers from a sick tree

i will not finish my blooming

these pills

will build me a ladder 

to all skies if i reach

wouldn't make me happier

than having left you behind

in this silence i know

you are but a shadow

the road is wide enough

for us to pass

shoulder by shoulder

and as you brush past me

i'll see your back

and stars will all dawn

but at least i'll be alone

with only myself

and i do not call out the darkness of mind

The Mug

Today I broke my favourite mug. It was stained and old, a little chipped and yellowed by time, but faithful to my thirsty lips, loyal to my broken fingers. But today, even she wanted to walk away. And so it slipped away from my trembling fingers...

I knelt next to it, took it into my hands as broken as it was, not really knowing what to do with the shards that could not be glued back together. Their rough edges looked so desolated and confused, so broken in their porcelain white innocence that tears gushed rives down my cheeks, flooding my lips and chin. They were bitter and salty seas as I tried to see the shards through their foam, they were a thunderstorm in my ears while I tried to hear them turning into dust in my hands. 

And there on the floor I sat, mourning the loss of my mug, away from the maddening world, confined inside my tiny room, breathing out the air that floated in through the open windows. The more I cried, the sleepier I got and soon I fell and fell into thick, warm and liquid darkness, velvet-like oblivion which surrounded me like a shroud. It wasn't scary, it wasn't hard, it wasn't... anything.

I just fell through murmurs and whispers.

I fell and never got up, just like my mug.

And it was a good mug.

My pretty dream

Inside my frustrated and overworked heart, I keep this dream hidden from the eyes of the world. I had it prettily wrapped in pink paper, a red ribbon keeping it all together while the walls of my heart keep resisting under a siege of waves of blades that cut in deep flesh with their dull edges, cracking open wounds that I'm still waiting to transform into ugly scars. But they keep bleeding while I stuff that pretty dream under ruins of ancient remains of a soul that might have lived other lives as well.

I keep no more hope for me. For this world stripped me of all that was pretty and shamed me with my own reflection, forcing me to crawl into the darkness I so hated. And like you peel off a fruit to reach its core in search of its sweetness, I'm peeling my own mind of fears and try to reach the core of it and save whatever is there left to be saved.

And while my walls crack open to reveal my stitched up skeleton, I rush upwards the spiral stairs, scratching my soles in my rush to reach my pretty dream. Now, my sole reason to hang on is this tiny, pink package, to keep its flame burning alive even in the darkest abyss.

My dream is frail. It was born before term and so I know it cannot breathe on its own completely. But as I keep it in my arms and close to my body I somehow hope or maybe wish for it to grow, rip off the pink paper and fly to better skies.

My frail dream sleeps most of the time. 

My dream... will never live on to come true, that I know. And yet, a tiny piece of me looks at it with hopeful eyes while I touch its smoky figure with hungry fingers that seem to have a mind of their own.

My dream, darling dream, when I call out to your murderers to stand for trial, I will be the only one to raise on two and bow down in front of you. And I know you won't see me, for you'll be long gone, but I'll keep remembering the darkness of the guilt.

My dream, darling dream to be one day deeply loved by a man who smiles only at me, showing dimples of kindness and his soul in his eyes, a man like a shelter against all storms... I know you'll die.

Locked doors

In an enclosed place

With lots of locked doors.

I alone sit in an open space,

My box of secrets scattered,

Unlocked and unsafe...

And still, those who come in

Intrigued by the locked doors

Sit in front of them for hours,

Pass by me, ignore my open self

For the darkness behind the locks.

They come and come,

Crowds of people come and go

And not a single one looks at me

At how I wear myself bare

Of secrets,

Of scars,

Of feelings of disdain. 

How can a locked door

Be more appealing to you

Than I who shows herself like this?

I could take your unimpressed looks

But this ignorance, as if there is no I

As if my open space is just a loop,

A void hole where sight cannot reach...

And I would tell you everything,

Feelings put in words,

Scars in monochrome lights,

If you'd only look at me,

In my eyes...

If only you'd see me,

For who I am

And take this void inside

And fill it with something else

Than bitterness and disappointment.

If only...

But you're just like any other crowd

Aren't you?

You come and go

Only interested in those locked doors.

But there's only darkness locked away

So that I can be safe with only myself.

My monsters, my demons, my howls,

Should I just release them all?

For your entertainment

I'd do it all...

Crown On Her Head

He sits there, across the table, the pages scattered in his lap and making him look as if even he doesn't really know what he's supposed to say or do next. I find him funny and for a second I try to imagine how a date with him would look like. Is he usually messy or it's just when he's in here? Would he spill his drink on him, in a courageous attempt to gulp the drink in a manly one shot?

But then he looks me in the eyes and my thoughts fly away like scared birds on a late winter day.

"Do you cry?"

"Who doesn't?" I choke on a smile and shrug his stare off by looking somewhere above his head.

"When did you last cry?"

I pause there for a moment with a bitter smile. "You know, last night I started watching a new TV show. The tags said 'comedy' and 'romantic'. I thought it was a good choice to brush off loneliness and gray thoughts, so I got cosy in front of the screen. The first episode wasn't funny at all. It was bitter and sad. And I cried. I cried for the poor fate of a very ordinary woman, realizing at the same time that her reality was mine as well and that this world is such a sad and superficial place to live in."

"Why sad?"

"Because whenever you dream big, out of your league, you're brutally brought down and stepped on. Everyone wants to teach you a lesson sooner or later. That's the sad truth, I'm sorry," I slump on my seat, scratching the leather and wishing I was somewhere in the sky, a burning bubble of gas, cold and distant, unaware of the surroundings.

"And why superficial?"

"You know why that lady in the TV show made me cry?" I lean in closer and look him in the eyes.

"No, why?"

"Because she was fat. She was fat and considered a failure from every single point of view. No one looked at her with compassion. Not to say that except for her mother, no one loved her! And the poor being had so much love in her, you know? So many feelings she was bottling up day by day, giving out nothing but love and taking care of everyone. She knew she wasn't anything special and she wished for another type of living. But she actually cared too much for those around her to do anything extreme. Until life decided to do it for her. Don't you find it sad, doctor?"

"So you identified yourself with this character and cried because...?"

"Because I wonder why we can't see what's on the inside, rather than judge what's on the outside. Because we do not see we're but shells and stellar dust and that when we'll get old, beauty and slenderness won't survive to the diseases that will take over our bodies. Because people don't understand that being fat is not a choice. Just like there are a lot of natural skinny persons, there are people that cannot lose weight or that get fat really easily, no matter how little they eat! But no... we're too much centered on good looks and bling-blings, rather than on what really matters."

"And you cried because...?"

"Because I saw her sell her soul to the devil for a little bit of happiness and I wondered if I should do the same," I play with my fingers in my lap. "I wondered if I should throw myself away and fill in someone else's shoes and lead a life of lies and pretending. So you tell me, doctor, what's wrong with me? Why am I like this? Maybe it's melancholy?"

He looks at me and seems to ponder over whether disclosing or not the name of the disease to me. And he just sighs and looks over his notes once more, biting the end of his pencil. 

Smiling, I stand up. "You're over-analyzing me right now, doctor," I pick up my coat and purse. "You see, there's one thing I learned during these lonely years."

"What's that, miss?"

"That depression comes silently, without making a parade over its crowing in one's heart and mind."

The letter

It's so stuffy inside here that I can no longer breathe and I start looking for a way out. It never ended, did it? No matter how much I tried to forget, no matter if I denied my memories - nothing really helped, did it? No, it did nothing but pick on my scars and transform me into the walking dead that I am, a scarred monster that's afraid of every shadow around, including my own reflection in the old mirror.

I will not hate again. I will not let those black flames consume my soul, eat my vibes and take away my smiles. I will not hate again and let you stay on my mind any longer. I will not hate again. You won't be the subject of my negative idolization and come to life in my dreams, haunting my life even when you're not around.

I will not hate you. I don't want to. It's not pleasant and it's not pretty. Instead, I will fold your memory and put it in this tiny box that I will lock inside one of the oldest drawers of my mind - the drawer where I stock unimportant events. And I will forget all about your existence. From the moment I lock your tiny, almost molecular box, you will cease to exist for me. No, I will not hate you - instead, I will deny you any rights of living inside my head. 

I pledge to smile even when meetings occur and your presence reminds me of the things you greedily wanted for yourself even if they belonged to me. Now you've got them all and I'm pitiful while you're almighty. Hope you're happy. I am happy with losing to you... because you're nothing but another stranger.

It's funny that I've bid you goodbye so many times before and yet, I am still hurt by your petty insult. Yes, this is me, one of those few that are left on this dying Earth which know what being loyal to a friend means. So you get to laugh in the end. You get to laugh and be happy; why wouldn't you be? After all, you've stole enough from me: my innocent thoughts, my love for you, my first memory of loving someone else but my mother.  But it's alright. I'll lock them all in another tiny box and they'll be swallowed by yet another black hole. Like that which threw you into Oblivion...

I will not hate you. I'm trying very hard here, you see? To be better than you; a better human, a better person, a better me. I won't regret, I know that and it doesn't hurt either. I should have chase you out eons ago. Instead, I let you grow inside of me like a poisonous maggot.

I will not hate you. I am sincerely trying to keep my promise to myself. I don't want to lead my life through one sole thought. So, I will depose of you tonight, right now.

Let's never meet again, huh? Let's never again pretend to have known each other and play a charade for the ones around us, ok? Let's never remember summers and late nights, laughter and letters. Let's just become real strangers and turn heads the other way when we see each other, ok?

For from now on, the only moment I want to hear of you again is that when I'm told of your funeral.

Goodbye, "friend", let's do well in staying the strangers we've become, 

Yours sincerely,

The owner of your tiny box.

P.S. Witchcraft.

Save me

Yesterday I lost my faith in humanity. Before yesterday I used to think there is a slight chance for us to improve, for us to become better, for us to be a little kinder to those around. But now I see the truth - we screwed up somewhere along the human evolution. We lost the capacity to be objective over a strange kind of selfishness and rage that's specific to wild animals.

Apparently, nothing I do is ever good enough. Apparently the word "student" and the status it brings within society is nowadays perceived as an insult. The fact that I went to one of the best high schools in my city and was a good student is no good. Not to talk about the fact that I actually got a place in one of the best universities in my country - no, that's shameful to even be mentioned! No matter what I do, no matter how much I struggle, no matter how hard I try to be better in what I do and better as a whole human being, I am judged by the fact that I hang around with younger people and don't have a boyfriend. Yes, in the eyes of my bullies, I am a social loser...

I know people don't like reading about bad stuff happening and tend to give more importance to happy thoughts. But bullying is part of our every day life, people. We shouldn't treat it lightly. As a kid I put up with it most of the times, until I found a way out of the vicious circle. And I was good once I was out. As a kid, I think you can deal a little better with the stress and everything. But as a young adult, what are you supposed to do when put in such a situation? I got so mad that I swore and I was seen as a hooligan. I told them to back off, 'cause no one has the right to treat me this way and I was labeled as an impolite girl. I then tried to keep my horses and explained why I did what I did and was almost hit by a fist. And when I told the thing - it cannot be called human - to crawl back from where it came because I do not care about its opinion, the "alpha male" appeared and the way he yelled at me made me gulp. Now, I should have just flipped my bird and walk away, but no, 'cause I thought at least he would be more rational. But he yelled at me and I almost got hit again. Yay for humans like that bastard! So I gave him a "talk to the hand" and walked away as quickly as I could, not sure I could keep my head up anymore. The way they insulted me... it made me feel like a maggot. In their eyes, the fact that I had gotten where I wanted was not important. No. I should have brought back a super fabulous  boyfriend that would shit money and spit gold to be able to impress them. I should have probably have already two or three kids and still live with my parents. Or maybe I should have just failed all the finals in the 12th grade and be an ill-mannered shop assistant. Maybe in those situations they would have felt proud enough with what they did with their life to leave me the fuck alone. So yeah, sorry for being nothing but a plain girl that minds her own business and tries to achieve something in this life!

But I'm none of those they wish, so they found their way to pick on me. And I gave in to their words. I should have just flipped my bird and walk away. But I got affected and I cried my eyes out as soon as I locked the door behind me. I cried so much that I scared my mom over the phone. I cried until I transformed into a little Joker with all the mascara running down my cheeks. I cried and felt like the lowest human being on this planet. I cried because I was angry and because I was scared - c'mon, I am just a girl after all and being threatened with a fist cannot be taken lightly! And even now, 24h later, I am still affected by their words while they probably are soundly asleep in their beds. Gosh, sometimes I wish I could hurt people so badly that it would be impossible for them to ever recover! And to think that my bullies are calling themselves grown-up... fuck growing up if it means turning in a wild beast! Fuck being thirty or forty and senseless!

Why do we even grow up?

I want to go back to being a kid.

I need to go back and find myself a different path as far away from these idiots as possible!

Or even better, never be born into this world... 'cause here, nobody can save humanity any longer.

Stellar soul

N.R. is a human like all the others, just less special traits added to her character. But one night she went stargazing. And the lights she saw above, the millions of twinkling, the most beautiful painted view of them all - everything made her think just how beautiful ephemeral things were. It didn't matter that a lot of the lights she saw were just projections of stars that died or that their luminescence was cold and distant. To her eyes, they were all beautiful.

From that night, N.R. started her real journey as a human. And once on the bus, she realized that she had only watched life pass her by, too scared of the headlights of the cars to step outside her pretty and very fragile bubble. It was comfortable to take cover from the wind of change and just dodge all the drop from the rain of hardship. It was easy to wait for dreams to crawl out through her blinds, hope that once out they'll grow wings and become fierce and powerful like ancient dragons. And it was only now that she realized she had been missing all the excitement of being alive. So she left with the wind at her back, hoping to reach the stars before it was too late.

That night, that one night changed her life. For she had seen the most beautiful, most sparkling, most approachable light of them all. It was right there, above her, a little to the right on the sky's canopy, living in a different circle, leading a completely different rotation than N.R.'s planet. But it was alright, for she knew how to lure that star to look down and shine its light upon her and upon her alone. And so the star did: it turned itself to this one peculiar human and smiled with eons of undying rays of cold light, blinding even the Sun itself, making the Moon miss its rotation and scandalizing all the other cosmogonic spheres.

It was unusual for a human to shift its center of attention from inside to the outside, so N.R. was seen as being special for the first time. The way her eyes shone every time the star illuminated the night sky, the way her thoughts were put in tiny bottles and sent all across the sea, towards that special point where it meets Horizon, the only one capable of touching the sky, the way she was hoping and dreaming of that one single, tiny, little star was fascinating. She was after all, just a tiny, little human herself... and so she began to feel the wind of change as she reached the end of the Earth and realized her star was never going to make it on that squared piece of land she had brought for just the two of them. No, it hit her, her tiny star was pinned on the night's canopy forever and always. 

It saddened N.R. to watch her star trying to reach her so hard that she had blinded half of the galaxy. It was painful to watch how her star was hurting itself by breaking its light into so many pieces that it turned into sparkling dust above N.R.'s face and eyes. It broke her heart to know that despite seeing so many stars leaving the canopy, not even one reached the Earth before its own light. So one night, when the tide was high and the moon had finally stopped spinning, N.R. spoke her mind for the first time:

"I've been sitting, watching, waiting... Now it only makes me wonder: if I'd left this all behind and held the wind at my back, could I get you off my mind?"

And she turned her back on the sky and hid under a cover made of lies she told herself so her guilt would be put to sleep, her consciousness muted. But it was impossible to bear it: she wanted to pluck her eyes out, carve out her heart, dig her own grave with her nails, weep till the sea would cover the whole Earth or until the Moon would bathe in her tears... she wanted her star to be happy more than anything. And she knew, N.R. knew she was just a human, that she could shake all Heavens and no star would fall, that she was going to cry and throw a fit as soon as the light of her beloved star would touch her, freezing her blood. She knew she had so many flaws that even her guardian angel turned his face from her, ashamed of the nakedness of her soul and incapacity of truly believing. For that had been her problem from always: N.R. was incapable of believing for too long in something... especially in herself.

Until - until one night when she started believing in the happiness of her tiny, little star.

That's when she went stargazing with her soul...

Licensed to kill

I am a licensed liar.

I was born out of a lie and from my first word till now, everything was a lie. I lied shamelessly, I lied continuously, I breathe and eat lies from dusk to dawn.

The way I met him was a lie - a sunny day full of laughter and butterflies crumbles now in front of me. The whole imaginary puzzle is defective now that I admit it out loud that it was all a game of lies which built an empire of dirt and false truth.

The way I loved was a lie as well - reality is like a tennis racquet that hits you in the face when you expect less, sending balls and pieces of consciousness right at you. I loved only with my surface, only with my mind, keeping my heart under an invisible lock, giving the impression I was genuine, that I was truthful with my words. But I was taming my heart instead, letting the brain pick what truth to send out.

The way I dressed was a lie - layers and layers to cover my scars, to squeeze my curves, to break my bones, to make me look taller, to make me look desirable, to make me look like a Barbie. Thick layers to lie to the eyes, to hide my true self and keep my heart safe.

The way I walked was yet another lie - swaying my body, luring the spirits, setting fire to the water when all I wanted was to walk faster and faster, run away and stop only when the moon is full in the middle of the desert.

What have I become? How did all end up like this?

I took everything and gave nothing. I raised an empire of dirt, and put heart by heart till I built a wall taller than the tower of Babel. And no powerful entity threw lightning at me, I did not fell nor did it crumble over me, crushing me with waves of tears and blood. I asked for sincerity and I gave nothing but false truth, a facade built to impress... and I killed thousands, millions of feelings, choked them in their crib.

There is no real motive for my deeds. There's no explanation, no way of offering myself an excuse. I did what I did, knowing that everyone I know goes away in the end. No one stays, no one cares, so why should I? So I killed their feelings before they could kill mine, scarred them for life before they could give me deep cuts like those I received before.

Beneath the stains of time, I am still myself, still innocent... but my lies I cannot erase, I cannot hide or untell. They've grown into a forest of webs, deceived and tore heart after heart. If I could turn back time, I would keep myself buried in the ground, head underwater and lips sawn with heavy wire. And then I'd be the innocent one burn on the pyre and you could have it all, my empire of dirt, my crown of thorns, my liars' chair.

But my broken thoughts cannot be repaired and if I am to admit everything I'll say it out loud: I am a liar to the core, deceiving hearts and myself as well. I am licensed to kill after all...

Holding demons

I think it happened on a rainy Tuesday evening... or was it on Wednesday? Anyway, what matters is that it happened during a rainy evening. I was just about to step out in the summer rain, my rain coat tightly wrapped around my shivering body. I was wearing a smile because inside my mind it was sunny - sunny and warm and wind was blowing from the sea, bringing salty drops on my skin. I was still smiling when I saw her: a mere silhouette, a mere presence in between the crowd, so dizzy and small she could have been easily carried off by the mere blowing wind. 
Her hair - a complete mess of rebellious curls.
Her lips - bloody and scrapped, moving continuously, whispering one she knew what.
Her fingers - holding tight on a bottle full of whiskey.
She was a lost one, an unfortunate event the crowd didn't preoccupy itself with. So I shrugged her off my mind as well and went on my way. Until those cold finger grabbed my wrist and forced me to look deeply in her eyes. Eyes that had seen the worse, eyes that were swimming in tears, eyes that were showing the wild sparkle of a spirit that didn't knew how to lose. And when she dragged me away on the dark alley, the world stopped moving all of a sudden and I went back in time.
There I was, young and smiling, celebrating my 18th birthday. A chaos of a party with demons screaming from bottles of whiskey and gin and burning cigars, with speakers screaming profanities out loud, inviting to orgies, tempting even the weak me to give in to the darkness that came smiling at me, wrapped in smoke and dirty colours. And then I woke up in someone else's bed, wearing someone else's clothes, being someone I didn't even recognize...
As I watched my young self looking around all confused, the image changed into another one: me inside the OR, screaming my pain, cursing my fate, calling for my mother during labor. I was almost 19 and almost a mother.
And then she showed me the years that passed by in what seemed an eternity: late hours working, late hours partying, a child waiting at home with scared eyes, flinching at only the sound of my voice, a child that would cover my body with his own blanket and look over me as I slept on the floor. And no matter how badly I treated him, that child never left my side. He grew up wearing old clothes and sometimes barefooted and still gave his best out there. To him the world meant nothing if I wasn't happy.
Until one rainy day when we fought and I started crying, wishing out loud he wouldn't exist. And with a happy smile on his lips, he said "I know. I'm sorry. I love you." and went away. Next day I found his body hanging from the ceiling and a note stuck in his cold and rigid hand: "Now you can start all over again.".
"I spent his love and left him broke, hadn't I?" 
But only rain could answer to me. Rain and a warm hand holding mine.
"Are you ok, mommy?" His doe eyes checked my complexion.

Yes, I saw her on a rainy day. She was wild, she was rebellious and she defied every law in this Universe to come show me that I carried inside more demons than all Hell. And she got rid of them for me. Now I can wear flowers in my hair and white dresses and hold my child properly. Maybe I'm not the best, maybe I'll never be, but at least I am trying. Are you striking for a better you?
Yes, it was definitely raining on that Friday...

"I regret nothing."

To you...

To you, the one who isn't beautiful.

To you, the one who knows that she's not beautiful, the one who knows she won't have a dedication written on musical notes, heard by the entire world. played over and over again and some more, especially during foggy mornings.
To you, the one who knows that she's not beautiful, the one who knows Prince Charming exists only in badly written fairytales that seem to always have at least two versions - one always ending with the most desired happy-ending, the other one full of horrid scenes that depict human nature better than any commercial on TV or B-class movie.
To you, the one who knows that she's not beautiful, the one who wishes Darwin's evolution scale could go backwards, 'cause we screwed everything up and work on the ultimate auto-destruction. 
To you, the one who knows that she's not beautiful, the one that wears her heart on the sleeve, not as a shield, but as the pretties coats of arms. She's not afraid to feel sadness and loneliness as she's afraid to feel unloved and unwanted.
To you, the one who knows she's not beautiful, the one who gives everything of her and keeps nothing for herself, the one who'd jump into fire without thinking twice if you'd only look twice at her and give her the smallest chance.
To you, the one who knows she's not beautiful, the one who knows how to be silent and alert, always there, always near, always prepared to catch the you who's falling deeply into the abyss.
To you, the one who knows she's not beautiful, the one who wishes sometimes to be invisible or a hole to open up and swallow her all, so that she'd disappear wholly with all her pain and aching soul, the one who is embarrassed that she can't be like that person and that person and that person.
To you, the one who knows she's not beautiful, the one who was left without an ounce of luck at birth and still manages to carry on, day by day, with only sun keeping her afloat.
To you, the one who knows she's not beautiful, the one who knows there won't be someone asking for a second, a minute, a day, a month, a lifetime, a forever of her time and still keeps her head up, laughing to the wind and the colours only she can see.
To you, the one who has the most beautiful heart in the whole world, your story hasn't been written yet, so there's no answer to your silent plea. But there is someone, yet to be disclosed, yet to approach you. And you'll be his everything even though you won't see it.
To you, the one who is frail and broken winged... do not despair. 

Rebel

It wasn't an unheard thing for her to lose her consciousness over that book of hers. With soft fingers hanging from the edges of the hardcovers, her eyes closed, she fell deeper and deeper into the slumber she had avoided for so long. For what was the reason to sleep when dreams were forbidden to her mind?

And yet, she was dreaming. Against all rules, it started from pure white, a crashing whirlpool of pureness that smelled like roses. And suddenly, she was sitting in front of the priest, all dressed in white. It was December 14th and snow could be seen falling outside the windows of the church.

White were her flowers and dress and white was her hair, just like her eyes. She could feel gentle hands holding hers and the husky voice of the priest reading the sermon of what seemed to be a precious day.

No memories were making her smile and yet she knew she was happy. She knew that beyond her incapability of seeing, the man in front of was in love, if not with her poor appearance, then with her humor or maybe, just maybe, with her romantic mind.

No shadows of reality were able to break through the tall walls of the church, so she rested for a while inside there as she could hear her mother's cry, feeling her soon-to-be husband's affection. Just for a little while she wished everything could be real, that everything could one day come true - her, the girl who brought the endless autumn with her eyes become the bride of Winter and never again feel the fear of darkness.

But as wind howled outside her window, she stirred into her sleep, her eyes lazily opening only to embrace the desolation of a life she never wished for. Nothingness caged between four blue walls, with a bed for rest and a water bottle to survive bitter nightmares.

And yet, she smiled. She was not to be defeated that easily. She was to wake up day after day, confronting everything with a smile on her face, making her own way through the darkness she feared so much. She didn't need anyone to hold her hand even though she could feel fear creeping inside, grabbing her bones and squeezing them so that they'd break. She needn't him to be there, a beacon driving away the shadows of her own heart. For she knew he would have never came when called... so better not hold on expectations.

She was alright. She hummed a little song as she packed the book in the red material, hiding it under her bed, in the miserable hole.

She was a Rebel.

Barely Breathing

Coldness leaves her fingers numb as she breathes warmth against her skin. The bus is late once again.

She's holding tight on her plastic bag, wishing it was a warm hand instead, her eyes never leaving the direction from where cars pass zooming by her. It makes her blink as if it's a hard to understand fact, as if someone had just insulted her and she's just too shocked to react. 

Light.

Her eyes perceive it as globes of warmth, glowing and dispersing the darkness all around, bouncing around like multicoloured balls of plastic. But her heart is blind. The light in her eyes does not reach her heart - the poor mechanism could be dead.

Coldness bites her cheeks and there she is, biting it back in the corner of her lips, until rust drips on her tongue like warm honey-dew. She's left once again without any feeling, without the possibility to move forward or backwards. And images come and go flying in front of her eyes and she feels like braking down...

She's been broken so many times that she forgot the feeling of being glued back together. So many times has she been dropped on the floor, carelessly picked up and placed back at the start that her knees are more familiar to the coldness of the ground than the warmth of a sheet. So many times she heard bad words swishing the air like a punishment that now she does not even blink in front of all those piercing cussings and glares.

She's been there and back.

Hell was red and white, but mostly blue.

For she was the nice doll received on Christmas and put through a complete make-over with dripping make-up and chopped hair at the back, with lipstick stains peeling off her rosy cheek. She was the doll that was stripped off her clothes and forgotten in a wooden chest where she first learned the meaning of being alone. She been the favourite toy only to fall in disgrace, like all the Gods of the old Olympus, their lights flickering, forgotten on the bottom of the memory abyss.

She's been the bad guy, the lonely one, the one that would forever walk alone.

She's been there, she's done all that.

And now the bus is late once again. How heartless can one be to let another soul be bitten by coldness, surrounded by ice, swallowed by the whiteness of a dark snow?

The wig is coming off, she's tossing it away and cars try to avoid it, crashing one into another. She's tired of trying to go back to being the one she used to be: the doll that used to stare blankly from the shelves, looking all prideful and perfect with her locks of dark hair framing her oval shaped face. She's finally letting people see the stains of make-up covering her skin like the stains of a untreated acne. 

And stripped of all the gimmicks, she finally sees the light. It comes crashing into her, pushing her chest inwards, making the silence hum inside it. And locks fall open, rusty chains are put on fire, melted into silver and a beat is throbbing loudly, echoing in between her ribs.

She now remembers: there used to be a teddy bear once, a dusty one, all yellow and dirty, but the possessor of a warm heart and a kind smile. A teddy bear, one that used to hug her, hold he tight, making her feel powerful when all that remained behind was dust. There once used to be love.

She used to love.

But when the house burned, he burned with it, while she was saved by muddy hands when all she ever wished for was dying under her very eyes. And that's when she became someone unrecognizable: fake hair, fake make-up, fake posture, heck, even her beliefs were turned into faking. All that remained of her was a warm smile of the doll that once wished to make a someone smile, to offer comfort to the crying one and days of bliss when darkness would creep in.

She lost herself and spent decades trying to become a person that would be loved. A person. A human being with feelings, a heart without fear, a voice in the crowd.

She hoped all this time when in fact she was barely breathing... for she had forgotten all about her teddy bear...

Can Somebody Save Me Now?

I'm foolishly wear this rag of smile every day. 
Each day.
Even if I'm mad, it's easy to change my mood and pretend I'm happy if I put it up. It's like an old t-shirt that has holes in the fabric, revealing bits of the skin that finds underneath it. But even if it's old, it's comfortable enough for you to prefer it to the fancy lace and silk gown that lies still new in your closet. It's like an old bike that you keep using, despite the tire being flat. You prefer pumping some air in than go buy a new one.
I'm stupid enough to wear it every day, in front of everyone. I don't frown if there's someone around. You might catch me frowning at a book I'm reading and even that is pretty rarely coming from me. I don't cry in front of people. I just... put on a smile and swallow my tears for later, for a bathroom or a dark room with drawn curtains and music filling the stiff air.
I wear a smile every day ever since someone said my sad face is depressing to see every single day. I guess a smiling one is easier to stand and have around, right?
But if my sadness used to once be on my lips, I'm afraid it has gone to my eyes. It wasn't there before. My eyes were normal, plain brown eyes, sparkling or dry, always looking straight in the eyes of the person in front. But now they're dull, soulless eyes staring at the shoes. Always at the shoes. Because if I raise them and look someone in the eyes, I'm afraid I might scare them away. 
For who would love a girl with sad eyes?
So I wear this rag of a smile every single day, holding tight on it and hoping that it will last till the night sets over my bed and I close my eyes, that it won't break down and reveal my true self in front of the whole world.
For who would love a girl with sad lips?
This smile is everything I have, the only thing I held dear for seven years now. And even when my dears one passed away, even when I was hurt, when I was in pain, when I was unable to speak or move, when I cried because of a sad, tragic movie, when I suffered for a poor being being abused, that smile was still there, in the corners of my lips, invisible to the others like Harry Potter's invisible cloak. Only I knew about it and it protected me from the outside world.
For who would love a sad girl?
But I feel the smile fading away, slowly coming off my face like a muddy mask in contact with water or like show under the bright sun. What would I do without it to protect me? What will I be without it around to keep me safe? What would I look like without it?
My smile, the only friend that knew my secret, the only one that read my heart like an open book, this smile is fading away.
Can't you save me?

"It's a cold, cold world out there

Sometimes I feel like nobody cares

I'm down, down, down

Can somebody save me?"