• Poetry

    You’ll have bitterness left on your tongue whenever you mention me

    I’m swallowing dumplings, full of unspoken words, which persistently roast my throat while they’re slipping, waiting for you to look at me as prey. The urge in me and the stomach-turning tells me to vomit all the secrets on the table before you, for you to eat all the rest of me. You will love everything I can’t tell you, You will laugh at my obsolete thoughts in which only you are always constant news. You will fall in love with my taste, you will fall in love with yourself. You will welcome the way my emotions are crunching when you sink your teeth that are starting to crack because…

  • Poetry

    Have you come for work or pleasure?

    Have you come for work or pleasure? It’s always the first for you, your job to swallow the men and spit them out. Satisfaction comes after, it’s in you, it feeds you and boosts your ego. And you wouldn’t choose any other way. I trembled to knock on your door, random kisses, intentional laughs and the random hotel sex that followed, how you intentionally pulled me into the hotel bar and said “Are you for whiskey?” You know I don’t refuse whiskey, and you even less, wearing mesh stockings. Now I paint your hands on bullets, I polish the trigger. (I’m not the one you love, am I?) I collected…

  • Poetry

    She was burning

    She was burning, like tobacco in the contemporary art gallery, wrapped in the paper between the fingers of a serious lady who never goes anywhere without her silk gloves. Like a dragonfly tearing its wings, screaming under a wolf-shaped totem. Her pulse was creating an earthquake while propped against the cold door of the antique souvenir shops. She was burning like the rain didn’t know about another clever opponent except for the fire. She was burning like she was allergic to moonlight. A million strokes of devastated gods; she fell like a deer flirting with fire, only to realize its mistake later. Her torso was like a pyre, waiting to…

  • Poetry

    Piano

    Without the ability to play, she became his piano. Possibility of coming back to life, the union of black and white. Yin yang, heart and mind. White keys, along with black, the perfect combination. Chords marked on her skin. He played on her body with touches. The music was becoming louder, but there was silence, in the room. His fingers were moving deep under her skin, he composed the melodies. She wanted to hear him play. She had no idea that she would become his favorite instrument, his urge to breathe. Through the melody of gravity which was pulling her down until her final exhale which he listened to attentively,…

  • Poetry

    Mortal and immortal

    Those deep dark eyes break the illusions of my arrogance. Your penetrating gaze, hard and sharp as flint; pierces my soul and breaks my conscience. Leave me bleeding at the altars of your recklessness. Your love is the antidote to the scratches and scars on my soul, because I fell before cumulative attacks of your eyes. Am I to hold my hand toward eternity or let myself fall into the dungeons of eternal damnation? It’s your privilege to decide. Let me think in the wretchedness of this night which my soul desperately despises. Why? Did I let you reach to the core of my existence? To enter with a forbidden…

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