• 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,…

  • 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…

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