• Poetry

    The shadow of a significant man

    I watched Death, on the side, admiring her, but I never dared to approach her. She seemed so untouchable, so intact and innocent. And then I felt her, so imminent; the bone cavity persistently echoed her name. I could smell her skin. That smell was impossible to ignore. She took me with her, with her thoughts and inside them. I stared at her for hours. It fascinated me. She stood in front of me. I was trembling and swallowing dumplings full of sin and remorse. A cold sweat came over me, emotions evoked the explosion in the eyes. I wanted to dance with her so badly, one last dance. I…

  • Poetry

    I had a dream

    I had a dream, in the broken, cold-blooded world. About a world without cracks. Where the laughter of limitless dreamers resonates and becomes the sound which breaks down into countless keys. A dream of a world where integrity runs in people’s hands, and it doesn’t run in the bloody rivers of immorality. A world where we didn’t kneel before those who don’t accept us the way we are and they want to change the essence by which we stand out. Where glass hands don’t have to hold unnecessary burdens, but they can break, freely and with ease. Cold sand welcomes my cold feet and my thoughts wander through hopelessness, while…

  • 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…

  • Poetry

    Love as matter

    Love, as matter, cannot be created, nor destroyed. We were born in it, sometimes unfulfilled, but never without it. Filled to the edge of our souls with love, we spend our whole lives trying to pour it out into someone who loved a little too much, a little too late, too much for some, and now is left a little emptier than before. Or someone, who loved a little less. Or someone, who isn’t ready to be whole. Love is like matter. Although one cannot create it or destroy it, sometimes it can destroy us. And in other definitions, love creates us, elaborates and builds us from fragments of our…

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