Tamara Stamenkovic
  • Some people are maps, others are places on them

    I believe some people are ships, other destinations. People sail through people, and many arrive at their destination only when they become ships, but nothing more than that, nothing less. I believe everyone has a map. Some people are maps, others are places on them. Me, I’m caught trying to swim over the edges of…

  • A butchered dream can last a lifetime if you nourish it well

    I feel your movements inside me, meaty taste of obedience, fractal dynamics of the ballerina. I see your bloody miniature feet leaving traces around me, at a rapid pace, and every footprint tells novels. I see you scraping your nails over the edges of your own of pre-coded existence not knowing what you’re missing until…

  • An empty frame in the museum of art

    Do you remember that (not)important day? I made a fool of myself at an art museum standing in a blank frame, trying to look intellectual. You looked at me, surely thinking: “Crazy or lost?“. And you didn’t laugh at me, but at the painting next to me. I went home in a blind rage, thinking:…

  • If you sell your soul, you will become a wine on Devil’s lips

    They say, if you sell your soul, you will become a wine on Devil’s lips, bitter, but sweet, toxic, thick. They say, if you make that pact at the intersection, at midnight on Friday, with the shadow of a bloody hole, you’ll be gifted, damned, I don’t know. Transparency runs from the bite on my…

  • 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…

  • Skeletons scattered all over the carpet

    You ask me what to do with all that love; Drink it, swallow it, then vomit, just don’t get the carpet dirty, on which lie my favorite skeletons. And what to do with all these wishes? Just cough them up so you can drink them again. How can you ask me? All I’ve learned is…

  • Do we exist only because we are alive?

    Does it truly matter? Or is existence divided into a mindless play on the mind that we’re not alive and the cruel truth we live when we have to survive? When you think a little deeper, there’s no evidence to support either opinion. No answer can satisfy such a unique mindset, and the very idea…

  • Man is shaped by what everyone wants, but never into what he wants to be

    Man is appalled by another man, when exposed to the disgust of his existence. Where there is no parable and we’re all just dots at an intangible distance, too close to each other, touching, but we don’t make a difference, we only impede vision. Too similar to each other, dark and small, we don’t belong…