• Poetry

    Did she know that I’m a word that can’t be pronounced?

    Yesterday I saw the reflection of my smile as I was cutting the wire between what I am and what she sees in me. I never wanted her to walk upon it with legs built of glass. That smile cut me, full of her pain. Already sufficiently diminished to match the size of my hand, my fingers overload her body, before my pride. Even I have a conscience, no matter how filthy it is. I felt that I became only a look, disappointing, destructive, merciless, penetrating through her shell, outgrowing what she gave me, letting go of what I couldn’t give her. I will always be a representative of realism,…

  • 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…

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