• Prose

    You look beautifully lost

    You look beautifully lost, with headphones in your ears and hands in your pockets, so nothing disturbs you. Restless hair, eyes closed as you look at the world, the one in you, the one forbidden to the one outside. Without a smartphone that certainly won’t make you smarter, the mute off on the phone, you don’t want any distractions. You walk past me as I sit on the sidewalk. I’m smiling, but you don’t notice it, you’re lost, beautifully lost. While looking at you, I’m imagining what you might be thinking at that moment. What’s the problem? What bothers you? Maybe you’re thinking about someone that hurt you, or perhaps…

  • Prose

    Ghosts don’t always come in the human form

    Do you know the feeling of coldness and death on your neck that sneaks up on you surprisingly, always behind you, one anxiety closer to you? The feeling when your skin shiver for a moment or two. You can feel it, even now, always whispering and lurking. But, when it comes, it grabs you by the neck and forces you to scream something you never dared to say out loud. What’s that power you are giving to the body without a face, hands without bones, skin without a layer, breath without living? To whom do you give yourself to when you think you are in the hands of the ghosts…

  • 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

    I run after my life, whether towards it or away from it, I don’t stop

    Everything is in the trembling of the lower lip, the dry dumpling that makes a hole in the throat, the bitterness surfaces no matter how hard you press your tongue against the tips of your lips. That’s how you always know that you hit the wall of the familiar place, where turning around and turning back isn’t permitted. There’s no redemption in waiting, and unsteady legs fall into live sand of unyielding. Did you think it couldn’t happen more than once? You’ve been chewed up by the ground a thousand times before. You tell yourself to hold on tight, one more round, to lean on the impact and hope that…

  • 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

    Which one inside me will I tear apart first?

    Was being possessed my poor mental health earlier? A new day, a new question. Should I always be the one who hurts and separates from the world every time an alarm goes off because the emotions are released from the mental institution of my body? I realized the demons are guilty, the shame they brought upon a lost soul like mine. That entire picture is now called chemical imbalance. It isn’t some philosophy, to be honest. It was enough to let them out so that they can chew up every thought that seemed somewhat rational to me. That’s like a veil of red mist wrapping around me, a transformational possession…