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.

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

love

listen to the owls

calling on each other

like you and me

cascades

falling into each other

listen to the winds

fight with each other

like you and me

tornadoes 

crashing into each other

see the full moon

knocking on your window

like i look for you

shadow

in the vast dessert 

feel the rhythm

throbbing under your hand

spilling a secret

heartbeat

in a frail rib cage

taste the sweetness

berries of wilderness

untethering my pulse

mustang 

on an ancient prairie

darkness into darkness

pour 

and light a fire

brighter

than a sun

put out

light with light

and lie down

darkness next to darkness

to sleep

star next to star

looking at each other

eons of constellations

bursting

into stellar dust

i feel the wind

rustling

weaving tall grass

trading

green for yellow

face to face

nothing keeping them apart

water and willow

kissing

under the sun

all that's nothing

and nothing that's all

dance together

darkness and light

combine

love written on wind

carried away

watered

by oceans

until you get it

my love.

him

seek me through the grass

and adorn me with light

and silvery kisses.

i am long asleep

laying on my bed

rocked by a sea of dreams

and arms

and arms

and arms

and i dream of you

of you and you

and nothing else but you.

the road is long

and there's no flower

and no sun

to keep me breathing

while i follow you 

across the sea

across the universe

across all stars...

your footsteps are too big

for my worn out shoes

and i fear

your shadow is too dense

for me to breathe

through its smoke

the wind is singing

a love song

all flowers bending

in my dream where you

oh you

you smile so dearly

your back

oh your back

is now turned on me

i run

like crashing waves

and fall 

into your distance...

and the wind is whispering

to the moon

and the muffled sun

is suffering

i run

like yellow on crops

in summer

like green on forests

in spring

like shadows on snow

in winter

the wind withers me

like leaves on a tree

in autumn

across the water

resting your feet

into the icy coldness

of a creek

you are

oh you are

alone 

in darkness bathed

spears of sunshine

not piercing

you being alive

or dead

or immortal

or alone

crestfallen

shadow, 

lingering burden 

no longer do you follow

your master

shoes,

cannon balls

no longer do you thwart

his walk

and where do i belong

in all of these

am i the shoes

in his feet

his shadow

on his back

his sun

on the sky

his moon

in the lake

the flow of

consciousness

at the back of the mind

his smile 

lonely star of night

on obsidian 

unwoven canopy

no

i lain my hair

in dirt

i am the roots

of all dreams

overflowing sea

of burning suns

that do not die

nor live

but exist 

like lies

of white yarn

i do not hurt

i keep him 

all together

sea with sea 

crash together

in a pond

i pour myself

until there's nothing left

my heart

the fog

and all fireflies

burning like

ten thousand suns

i am a harbor.

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.

I see you

I've been sitting, watching, pondering... I've watched eons pass by me in seconds, their light dying like screens of uncharged laptops or some sort of smartphones. I've seen them all and for a second my heart trembled.

For how long have I kept myself hidden from you? For how long have I hid behind statuses of invisibility? Was it a default condition of the heart you left behind with your always offline being? Or was it just a reaction to the queue I've been planted into?

But Earth stopped its usual rotation and went the other way the day I saw you back online. "Hey," you wrote in unearthly dialect, "I think I broke my machine. It keeps buzzing and thuding deep inside, puffing and snorting like an old hag. What do I do now?"

And my fingers trembled upon the keyboard full of stellar dust of all those stars that set upon its keys. "About what? You're talking gibberish again."

It was an instant reaction to... you, I guess. Because no matter how much time it passed, you're you and I'm still the same fool that cannot fall out of love with your online persona.

"About my heart," came your reply, with the same teasing emoticon at the end. 

Bastard! Fool! Ignorant machine... 'cause you must be one on the other side of the screen! How can you ask me about your heart when mine has been paused for so long that it's hardly starting to smarten up?! You're so self-centered that I... "Try plugging it out," I could not give in. "Maybe it needs to die so you can see beyond the screen in front of you."

How many earthly kilometers did I travel to save your soul and found only ashes and a broken window? How many times did my feet gave in to this burden I still carry around no matter if asleep or awake? I stopped counting after it surpassed the infinite. And just so you know, I was so deep in that I saw no way out. I kept sinking and sinking and there was no branch to pull me out of the mud of my blood and tears, while my heart turned to dust in your room. There was the picture of us on your closet's door and there was that stupid, alien costume I wore on my first intergalactic journey I made for you - all evidence of the real you and me. And yet, you were nowhere to be found. Not there, not here, not under that withered palm-tree you just had to plant in your backyard! Your ice-cream was melting on the corner of a desk with no screen on it...

"I took too long, didn't I?" Your DP seemed to mock me with double smiles of a summer that has long froze under a thick layer of snow.

I wanted to be mean and tell you to just please, fuck off. But my fingers stubbornly refused and remained hanging above the keyboard of my foolish heart. "Way too long. Were they out of stellar dust?"

I guess we're alike... you and I, we're too much of fools not to see the truth in each other. I knew you for too long not to anticipate your disappearance. And you know me too well not to come back... eventually.

"I've been roaming around different stars, but they were all out of dust. And you know what I noticed missing?" Your messaged beeped my attention.

"Surprise me, fuck-head!"

"In all this universe, there's no star that has a you. So I had to come back and reclaim my place at the other end of the line. I see you now."

You're indeed a fuck-head! How many times did I tell you this and now you... you just... I give up, you know?!

"I see you," I replied and finally went to bed after eons of standing on guard.

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...

To a scarred body

Today's gone and history, tomorrow is already here, a present yet to be written. And with all this time running wild around yourself, you see less the inner spark and more the dust that covers it - a sticky substance of plump mud that we terrorize to no extend. 

In the relationship with yourself, there's no in between to express how you feel and you often tend to fall in extremes of love or hate. If it's the first one, then you cover yourself in even more layers of veneer that allow you to show off the spark that peaks in through the cracks of what will prove to be murderous later on. And if it's the second case other types of layers appear to conceal you from head to toes. Layers and layers of fabrics come in folds to provide hideout for insecurities and stained with red paint incapability of accepting that you are who you are and that the exterior is usually bad commercial for the poor soul residing behind the frail walls of this human body.

You fail to see the perfection that you live with 24/7.

You fail at seeing how you're a perfect sum of infinite connections that rarely fail you. You despise the way you share some of your traits with so many other to such an extend that you go for changes that leave you empty and shocked, unable to recognize the reflection of the broken spark of your soul. 

Don't turn your eyes away from the windows that want to reflect you from head to toes when you walk down town. Don't run away from seeing entirely just how perfect you are. From the eyes that see and yet never betray you, but remain mute witnesses to all your dark secrets you buried in the sands of time, to the nostrils that puff in warning when you're mad, signaling those insane enough to approach you that joking time has been paused for now, to the lips that carry out the holy mission of lying with a smile hanging loose in their corners while you pretend you two are just friends.

Then your neck, who keeps two different universes tied together - your reason and your emotions - in still dignity, never easily bowing to bend your self-confidence and pride.

And your shoulders; perfect, round and strong bones, dependable in their almost invisible existence. You don't see them, you don't give them any attention when you carelessly sling your bag on their roundness. And yet they support your responsibilities with the power of Atlas.

Your hands are mere helpful extremities of your messed up body, right? Twins in both life and death, they strive to prove your perfection day by day by simply existing and obeying all of your, sometimes ruthless, commands. Perfect in their synchronization to provide comfort one for another, they seem complete only when you hold hand with your lover. And yet, the nature of their miracle is much simpler than one can imagine: their caresses are softer than silk, their infinite care for each other and together for you should overthrow Heavens. Can you count how many times they've attenuated your falls? How many battle scars are they wearing on your behalf?

Inside that chest you wish was smaller or larger, under your skin and flesh hides the last tint of spark that was able to hide from the judgmental looks you gave and still give yourself. How perfectly the ribs come almost united to protect it from getting further wounds than those purely metaphoric! They leave space only for the lungs who are like old locomotives, puffing in and out an imposed calmness during the most frightful moments in your life. How perfectly the long spine guards it by facing all those mean tongues that roll out only insults meant to break your spirit, your spark!

Your pelvis is treated as the subject of an odd experiment. Its perfection is even more disregarded than that of the shoulders, as you do not see its contribution to more than just pleasure. You do not see how its made so beautifully, so perfect in its fragility and how it helps the unity of two pieces that were made to be together from the very beginning. It doesn't resist much and gently wraps itself into full blooming, giving away its secrets only when you are completely agreeing to it. It never works against you, it never betrays you and if it turns out to be labeled as 'out-of-order' it gently disposes of itself without hurting you.

Then your legs - like wings for birds, they carry your flight no matter the weather. When your hearts screams in pain, they run and run and run till they catch up with the one who left you behind. When you wake up late and fumble around like the sleepy-head that you are, they carry you around no matter their own confused state. The ankles move like springs on impulses you'd never give in to! And so, you kiss in front of the door and run inside, hiding once again in embarrassment.

Why can't you acknowledge all this born perfection?

Why can't you see yourself as more than the visuals provide?

Your body is perfect no matter the shape and size, no matter the scars and paintings on the wrapping, no matter the adjacent contexts! 

Can't you, for only a second per year, acknowledge its contribution to keeping you tightly wrapped together even when you feel like falling apart? Can't you, for just one single second, look beyond what you find so unpleasant about yourself and say "I love you for being solely mine. I love you, body!"?

"And for the times I get angry at you and torment you and starve you and keep you in frozen cold - I'm sorry."

Rude

In a parallel universe, Life is a bitch in the most literal possible way. There she is, sitting on the edge of the sidewalk, her high heels digging holes in the hearts of irresponsible or just easy to trick with cheap sex men. Her smile is flattering and mocking at the same time, drawing holes where you expect less, attracting innocence in traps of bareness and promises of STDs. And like the hooker she is, she doesn't care about your looks or age - she'll take you anyway as look as you pay her thick in more than just money and leave your life in her guard.

In a parallel universe, Life is taking your hand and guiding it to her rotten sex, hoping that you'd feel her core, still raw and untouched, whispering that everything has its purpose and that you meeting her was meant to be, written by some old, crippled man who likes to fuck around in terms we cannot comprehend.

In a parallel universe, Life is obnoxiously present in your everyday life. She's there with you during your coffee break, there when you buy your pack of cigarettes to smoke your worries away, there when you lie to your lover, there when you're just lying down on your bed, staring at the ceiling above and wondering what the fuck you're gonna do about those itching spots on your sex. Oh, she's there!

In this universe, Life's just another word for 'bitch'. She's the mother of all (of us) bastards she left behind to crawl on four and learn to eat shit from the age of two. And then, when we finally get on two and learn that poo-poo is a no-no and we pass through that period when everything is simply fun and the worse thing that could happen would be to lose one of your friends, she comes back and kicks you in the ass and you fall and break your hand or a leg or a finger or your mind gets shattered. That's the first encounter. Then comes adolescence and everything is pretty much messed up - from the pimple on your forehead, to the crush that just despises you to no end, to the bad grades and parents that have forgot how it's like to have all those hormones screaming inside your cage of growing bone(r)s. That's when Life likes to make her entrance in a big way! Soon you find yourself in college with no plans for the future, with no money in your pocket, with long nights wasted on shows, with big disappointments coming in like wrecking balls and putting down all those nice and pretty, porcelain-like dreams you've reared till Life decided you deserve to be fucked in your ass... or head... or wherever it hurts the most!

In this universe, Life is just a stuck-up bitch that friend-zoned everyone and that developed a certain addiction to bully the weak. From the frail looking boy, to the girl with geek glasses; from that family with a lot of kids that have just lost their mom (it's only NORMAL that they should lose their house as well, don't you think so?!), to that nice and super-friendly middle-aged couple who have to deal with shit at their age (I mean, it's only normal that on top of all the SHIT Life gave them all of a sudden, they have to deal with the cherry on top as well, right?!).

And to all those "philosophers" who say "Oh, you should work harder!", "It's you, not life at fault for your failures!", "You should try harder!" - oh well, all you fuckers, why don't you trade places with me and go through dealing with shit when even swimming against the currents of a forming tsunami is easier than waking up and realizing that your life is not just a bad, fucking dream?!

Listen up, You up there, the one they call God: why do I have to torment myself with the same Death just to face Resurrection once again?! 

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.

It's you

But you got to know this: my taciturn self is only screaming in psychotic struggles to escape you and your eyes. Yes, this is my confession of madness, my admission into a personal Hell I will never escape from... because you're there, always there, always there, presence of spirit and flesh, my utmost thirst, my lone crave for dangerous, maniac like company. It's you, you, you and you only. It's you and...

Your moves are fluid and your fingers seem to be chains of flying butterflies, keeping me trapped in this insanity, the forever darkness of my own mind.

Your scent is like an eternal flame burning the floor when I just want to lie down and shut down all these machines inside of me forever. Forever... but your flame keeps me moving, keeps me dancing, dangling my chains after me.

Your eyes looking away from me are more than any punishment Heaven could have bestowed on me for being born in this skin, trapped in this meat case. If there's no you, there can't be any other, so I'll struggle with all these bones and rip them to pieces if I have to... just don't look away.

And then your lips - a sweet smelling rose in full bloom is a decaying corpse. Full and with the corners always twirled in one or another form of mocking smile is carnage, silent torment for the weaklings like me that cannot touch you, cannot approach you, that can only dream of your darkness scattered in the wind. And sweet and poisonous and filled with thorns are they. But that can't keep me away from deliriously wishing to sink my teeth in your bottom lip and suck its death into me. Release me from my chains...

Your touch - whips and scratches against my bruised skin. And yet I let you continue your way down my hand, 'cause I know the pain can be erased only with pain and that there's no such thing as mercy in our little dark corner where only the devil can creep in without feeling insulted by the profanity of our blind Oblivion. 

You make no sense with your sweet lies and we both know your time is limited. So lay me down on sheets of solitude, strip me of all inhibition and look at me and only at me, see the soul screaming in me, see the claws scratching my throat in front of your every day betrayal, confide into my reverse flowing tears and trust they would never tell on you. And we'd finally be together.

Silence is overflowing from your shyness and I can only sharpen my claws on the smile in your eyes. Black blood flows through our veins and yet you do not see it - you'll never see it. The more you approach me, the more my chains of butterflies strangle me, cover me in soft and silky dust - you're the demon of my own insanity and you've come to take me, now I know.

But before we go anywhere, let me have that soft kiss, 'cause there ain't nobody in this maze to love you like I do.

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.

Grow [as human]

Couples are annoying to be around. So sickening sweet it make you want to leave the room and never again step inside there. They're the best at making you feel down, not needed, easy to be replaced, feel that you're the only one that hasn't evolved from the bottom of the food chain. Couples have this strange power to make you angry, clench your fingers around your glass or purse or phone and just curse through you clenched teeth... this or make you look away, embarrassed and just wishing a hole would open under your feet, swallowing you whole.

Couples are the best social torture that there is. That's how I used to think and feel. 

I used to be envious on their smiles and holding hands, on their little gestures that meant so much to them and them only, on the way they had this power to know when the other is around or in need or something, on their undivided attention. 

I used to feel awkward around them and just talk a lot to cover the way I was blushing or feel my heart stinging inside my chest. And then, the awkwardness would transform into anger - why couldn't I have that? Why did it have to be me? Was I really that bad? Where did God hid my luck? 

I used to think their love is disgusting...

Now I realize just how wrong I was. Love is not something that you should hate. Because, as we evolved as human beings, love became harder to find. Yes, there are the occasional relationship and the delusional thinking that we love the other person, but... that's not love. Now, I don't know what love really is or how it feels, if it hurts or if it's some sort of euphoric state of mind, but one thing I do know: love is awesome. And you cannot be envious on it or hate it or consider it disgusting. It's troublesome, yes, to those who are single, but it's not hateful.

I came to realize this with time and after hours of thinking and just analyzing the world around me. Now I can keep my head up and smile to their kisses and hugs, without feeling lonely or unwanted in their presence. Now I can be happy for them and smile at their love story as if I am one of those good people that do only good to others. I'm probably one of the worse people on this planet, but I cannot hate love. For it has its own pace, its own time and its own agenda. I cannot wish for it to hurry, I cannot make it bloom earlier, I cannot feel it until it's not its time.

So, I'll wait. Patiently, I'll focus on becoming a better human and grow healthier beliefs, so that when time comes and love finds me, I will be able of offering more than just my heart with all the scars and battle wounds, but also healthy moral values. And maybe, just maybe this way, my heart won't sting anymore around happy couples and I won't have to fake a smile, but wear a pretty and real one instead.

You need to be happy for their love in order to be happy with yours...