• 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

    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

    The Butterfly Effect

    What is chaos theory? A butterfly swinging its wings and making a sweep or does it just touches us in a series of chaos, people, sorted out like dominoes? Are we the dominoes that collide with each other? The effect of butterfly remains, that is, the same chaos theory, something we encounter every day, consciously or unconsciously. We make decisions that may be good for us, but fatal for others. Decisions stemming from the smallest little things. It just seems like it, don’t get it wrong. But without them, we couldn’t create something big, something we think is, and often turns out not to be. With just one swing, these…

  • Prose

    Pain worse than hell

    Your silence tells me that you’re screaming inside, your perfectly calm body tells me you’re shivering inside. From the outside, you are the living example of an indication in human form. Nobody sees you, nobody hears you. But I feel you. The level of my empathy reaches every movement of your body. I read the mimic of your face like a tragic novel in the late hours. It burns like hell, your pain. You enjoy it, don’t you? Do you enjoy the ability to hide from the rest of the world? To crawl up in all your emotions and punch them like you’re punching people on the streets like the…

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