• 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…

  • Prose

    Flames and ashes

    I’m not afraid of fire, I never was. I would stare at it until my eyes were burning and my hands start moving to touch that extravagant phenomenon that I always associated with the metaphorical aspect of just one part of the passion in me that panted behind my neck to let it come out and tear everything it inhaled. I had a burning desire to shred the skin from the bones, blending it with fire, to hurt me, but any wound would please me. And the voices in me would tell me it was a delusion, and of such magnitude that it could haunt me in the paranoia and…

  • Prose

    It’s good that I’m silent

    It’s good as long as I exist, as long I don’t talk about it, while you’re trying to guess. I don’t want you to know what’s hidden in my voice. I don’t want you to feel what’s flowing through my veins as you fight with me to open up and surrender to you. It’s good as long as I don’t give up. You will be swallowed by the chaos that’s in me if it tastes you. The claws of my hopelessness will grab you, and you don’t deserve that. It’s good as long as I don’t allow them and keep protecting you. But you must never know, that’s why I’m…

  • Prose

    Pull the trigger

    Close your eyes and tell me what you see. Is that the darkness or the dark shadows of all your unfulfilled desires, all the persecutors of your conscience? Every answer is behind closed eyes. Squeeze them harder, allow it to hurt you, count to ten, then keep watching the darkness. Which details you’ll remember and which you’ll ignore to notice, just because they’re too present, creating a real picture? It’s warm when you put the cold gun on a place where your heart beats fast, but it’s freezing when it beats backward. Do you sweat from all the difficulties you created? These dumplings you swallow will burn your throat. Isn’t…

  • 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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