• Poetry

    What’s (not) possible

    Your love, too, has become foreign language for me that I like to listen to, but I don’t understand it. Of your favorite music, which was at dusty closet, I remember how you could barely find those records, a replacement for the peace you sought. I barely found you crossing dusty roads and encountering unexpected turns. Previously, fights had brought us together. They often helped us to understand each other, to show the hidden sides of fear and mystery. Now, fights bring only silence -unbearable and endless. By pointing to multiple sides of us, what we were and what we’re not now. Just like in the old days, but we…

  • Poetry

    Only pain can make a writer to let off its voice

    I checked my conscience, counted my errors, one by one, or what’s left of them, such recklessly corrects by itself. And what I saw was nothing; the bones of a poet long decomposed, ending up lying under a hill from which I pushed my conscience. I guess, at a certain point, it was too heavy to hold. I took my boots and my shovel, the one with whom I also buried the part of myself who once believed he could choose quality, that he has to throw out the quantity of the equation. I started digging up my bones, just enough to upset them. Surely, a lesser crime than to…

  • Prose

    There are two people left in the pictures, turned into a memory

    Material things don’t matter, do they? However, there’s an obvious thread that connects them with emotions, with memories awakened inside two people which are no longer one being. When they grow apart and everyone goes their own way, although the paths are unfamiliar, they leave and what’s left behind are the remains of all those little things that once seemed to be irrelevant, but they’ll never look so small again. The remains of worn out, shredded T-shirts when they made breakfast together, with a smell of a long-standing perfume combined with a scent of chocolate and a stain of wine when they celebrated an anniversary on the bedroom floor where…

  • Prose

    I run after my life, whether towards it or away from it, I don’t stop

    Everything is in the trembling of the lower lip, the dry dumpling that makes a hole in the throat, the bitterness surfaces no matter how hard you press your tongue against the tips of your lips. That’s how you always know that you hit the wall of the familiar place, where turning around and turning back isn’t permitted. There’s no redemption in waiting, and unsteady legs fall into live sand of unyielding. Did you think it couldn’t happen more than once? You’ve been chewed up by the ground a thousand times before. You tell yourself to hold on tight, one more round, to lean on the impact and hope that…

  • Poetry

    I could fly over the entire world crashing with my wings at people

    Through all limitations and restrictions, like a bird with a ring around my neck, somewhat insidious, it seems, I flew through the gates of the pupils of people without eyes, recording every place I went to, carrying metal wires around my thighs. I took pictures with my eyes, of every moment that was a little more special than the previous one, and I found out that I could fly over the entire world crashing with my wings at people and barriers just to lure them into my lap. But, another discovery, another barrier in front of me, last stop, last place, pleasant to the lenses of my eyes. A place…

  • 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

    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,…

  • Abyss of thoughts

    I pretend for a moment that there is no insensibility around me

    I pretend for a moment that there is no insensibility around me. I pretend that is so wonderful to wake up and look through the window. I’m thinking about the relativity of that same happiness and I realize that I can only rely on my own. Nobody else will hand me over happiness. Behind that, there’s always some hidden intention, unfortunately, so today I say that it doesn’t exist, that there’s honesty in everyone and everything. I pretend that this world is full of love and that there’s something worth living, that there’s no unnecessary hatred and unreasonable condemnation. We all deserve to be loved the way we are, and…