• Prose

    Whose pain is greater?

    We put labels on people and then on ourselves, divided by the number of those who suffer, and every wrinkle tells its story to those who have it all, so they walk around with a wide smile, not seeing the world around them. What kind of people that makes us, if we suffocate in a mass of similar people, or the same, without any resemblance to each other, with everything we go through? We live here, divided and to no one, always belonging to our pain. That’s permanent, isn’t it? We are its hostages, so long cut off from the essential truth of our being, that pain has become our…

  • Poetry

    She took her pain in her hands, squeezing as never before

    As the candles began to burn, the body was ready to surrender. Waiting for the right moment, the last song started. In a well-known rhythm, with a well-known carmine, the body was ready to surrender. “What if this is just a test?“, she wondered while she was lying in the bathtub of cold water, feeling how it penetrates through the wrinkled skin, in the bones where she’s already buried. She holds a glass of red wine in her hand, while it’s gently slipping through her fingers. The water was getting darker, the candles burned so quickly… She also burned with them, her body was icy, tingles were crossing over her…