• 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…

  • 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 old pain becomes new

    I keep pressing my ears with all my strength, trying to stop that feeling of lost dreams digging holes in my eardrums. And that neck pain from the sadness that passed twenty years ago, but the pain comes back, like a little push of my conscience to bow my head and submit to something that happened. Yes, I was abused by my agony, neglected, and distorted and exploited in my paranoia, consciously. Yes, but I was also misunderstood and wrong, intentionally disoriented, and malnourished spiritually. Sure, I saw it coming, all the pain, all the pressure, when no one could understand why I was so cut off from myself and…

  • Prose

    The dark appearance of the half-dead person

    Have you ever thought about how many of you were dead in other people’s minds? How many wounded replicas of you are walking in the streets, beaten and wounded, hit, raped, left behind, or left to die? Those are the same people but in different bodies. I collect them as they pass by me and keep them pressed between my thoughts and palms, a collection of possible truths, future qualities, and ideas of some pretentious minds. That’s how I collected you, in the pieces that you left exposed at the wrong time of my passing through you. The demon in me says that my suspicion of other people is abnormal.…

  • 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…