• Prose

    We are friends, you say

    We are friends, you say, as I lean my head on your shoulder and you hug me stronger. If I ever try to come closer to you, I know you won’t turn me down, because friends don’t do that, right? But maybe I’ll start wanting more, wanting more from you. It’s funny, we both know it’s forbidden, but we feel freer than ever. “We’re just friends,” you say. But you have that look and you unconsciously raise your eyebrow when you have something else to say, yet you choose to smile and play with my hair because it’s easier than the truth. I do the same thing, I shake my…

  • Prose

    There are two people left in the pictures, turned into a memory

    Material things don’t matter, do they? However, there’s an obvious thread that connects them with emotions, with memories awakened inside two people which are no longer one being. When they grow apart and everyone goes their own way, although the paths are unfamiliar, they leave and what’s left behind are the remains of all those little things that once seemed to be irrelevant, but they’ll never look so small again. The remains of worn out, shredded T-shirts when they made breakfast together, with a smell of a long-standing perfume combined with a scent of chocolate and a stain of wine when they celebrated an anniversary on the bedroom floor where…

  • Prose

    Give away your soul and don’t be ashamed

    How fast does the person sell their soul to the devil? He lures us out of our own body, provokes us and plays our movements like we are puppets, claiming he doesn’t exist. He takes us more and more, takes over our existence and changes his form, every time. Looking at the changes which we’re anticipating, we unconsciously become susceptible to everything, to every change, every procedure. With an unfounded assertion that we’re indeed ourselves, we’re merely surviving. Then that same devil pulls us away, so we lose control. He controls us again. He possesses us repeatedly. We are not in our own bodies anymore, screaming, scratching the surface of…

  • Prose

    Shadow hidden within another

    I’m playing with knives again, sharpening them with a gentle roughness, same as my touch. I close my eyes while admiring the leather strap that endures razor movements. I’ve realized I now perform at my concert with severed hands. Looking at the sharp knife edges, I compare them to the judgments that stabbed me. I’m preparing them, making them the deadliest razors that will be ready to cut down the roots of what hurts me the most. Cold steel on my skin is causing me goosebumps. I watch the line I made and arrange my enemies, calling them by names to stay still and wait for their turn. The X…

  • Prose

    Skin old like an oak tree

    Only bark has left of me, old and rough like an oak. A hollow tree that only bothers lush nature. Do you know that, here, in this creepy woods we are all equal? Peeled humans. The moment until the last fall on the earth and until the last leaf fall on the ground… fragile branches that don’t attain even a fraction of the burden. Looks worse than sawing cuts, looks that shred the roots and cut wood. Mutilated in different parts, we seem scary and unnecessary, standing here. I feel like I’m migrating from my own skin, constantly. I’m afraid that my fruits will be visible because they will be…

  • Prose

    The Ecstasy

    The state in which the experience of supernatural enthusiasm dominates, the feeling of endless joy, the highest level of excitement in which a person appears to be leaving the body, loses consciousness and merges with the absolute. Ecstasy as a paranormal game where we find ourselves in the darkest places. We love darkness, but we search for a bright spot, seeking enlightenment. However, there’s a black hole, just between today and tomorrow, between the past and the more distant one. Between current and fundamental emotions. A black hole, timeless levitation, the state in which we fall unconsciously, subconsciously seeking it. Life becomes an intoxicant as if ecstasy acts on the…

  • Prose

    Scars

    What do you think of scars? What do they truly represent? A war or a curse? Pain or happiness? Are scars attractive? What about those who have unrecognizable faces because of the scars? They put up a mask because you’re afraid of them. Do you see your scars? Many of us are damaged, but we don’t see our bodies next to another, always looking at someone else’s skin. There’s always someone else’s pain easier to handle. It’s easier to see it until the turn comes to yourself. Not only do I write about scars on the skin, but it’s also just a surface because the ocean is also blue until…

  • Prose

    Bare to the core

    She believes that violence over the existence and perseverance in every emotion somehow needs to be continually earned- even to be deserved. She enjoyed her ability to take away his metaphorical inner extremities with ease. Feeling complete fulfilled her, in a way only he could identify with. He grabbed her hair and tied it with barbed wire of lust and longing. Black under her eyes and smeared cherry-colored lipstick. He injected her with pain. She watched him bend from the unbearable bone pain, watching how she relentlessly struggles to show him how he drains her blood and sweetens himself. Is that so? She knew she was bitter and poisonous, but…

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