• 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…

  • 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…

  • Abyss of thoughts

    We will become only a photograph

    We grow up. So quickly and seamlessly, life passes before our eyes as a black and white photograph in some virtual form, too detailed, yet blurred and empty. That kind of photo we would always remember, keep, and remove dust from it. Alive and too important, worth everything and filled with everything that we are, all that we haven’t been, all that we wanted to become. It includes all those people who have either been a lesson or a gift, all those dark nights and days filled with true happiness, years of experiences, success, failure, discovering ourselves at different times as different people, but essentially the same. That photo has…

  • Prose

    Give away your soul and don’t be ashamed

    How fast does the person sell their soul to the devil? He lures us out of our own body, provokes us and plays our movements like we are puppets, claiming he doesn’t exist. He takes us more and more, takes over our existence and changes his form, every time. Looking at the changes which we’re anticipating, we unconsciously become susceptible to everything, to every change, every procedure. With an unfounded assertion that we’re indeed ourselves, we’re merely surviving. Then that same devil pulls us away, so we lose control. He controls us again. He possesses us repeatedly. We are not in our own bodies anymore, screaming, scratching the surface of…

  • Prose

    Skin old like an oak tree

    Only bark has left of me, old and rough like an oak. A hollow tree that only bothers lush nature. Do you know that, here, in this creepy woods we are all equal? Peeled humans. The moment until the last fall on the earth and until the last leaf fall on the ground… fragile branches that don’t attain even a fraction of the burden. Looks worse than sawing cuts, looks that shred the roots and cut wood. Mutilated in different parts, we seem scary and unnecessary, standing here. I feel like I’m migrating from my own skin, constantly. I’m afraid that my fruits will be visible because they will be…

  • Poetry

    Paradox and enigma

    You are bound by restlessness. Scared of the unknown. Cheated by the truth. Pushed in the corner. Unknown to yourself. Toxic for others. Thrown into a vortex. Ready for the ending. You crawl and disappear. Consumed by reality. Not accepting it. Forced to see it. Driven with rage. You are bound by the need. Charmed by lies. Secondary role. The main initiator. A vicious circle and fire. A moment in the meantime. Erratic chaos. You as your own burden. Lost in the void. Overloaded by pressure. Haunted by the demons. Ejected into the interspace. Possibly someone’s. Never belonging to anyone. Nowhere achieved. Inevitably neglected. Wrongly guided. Used to yourself. Imprinted…

  • Prose

    The Ecstasy

    The state in which the experience of supernatural enthusiasm dominates, the feeling of endless joy, the highest level of excitement in which a person appears to be leaving the body, loses consciousness and merges with the absolute. Ecstasy as a paranormal game where we find ourselves in the darkest places. We love darkness, but we search for a bright spot, seeking enlightenment. However, there’s a black hole, just between today and tomorrow, between the past and the more distant one. Between current and fundamental emotions. A black hole, timeless levitation, the state in which we fall unconsciously, subconsciously seeking it. Life becomes an intoxicant as if ecstasy acts on the…

  • Prose

    Scars

    What do you think of scars? What do they truly represent? A war or a curse? Pain or happiness? Are scars attractive? What about those who have unrecognizable faces because of the scars? They put up a mask because you’re afraid of them. Do you see your scars? Many of us are damaged, but we don’t see our bodies next to another, always looking at someone else’s skin. There’s always someone else’s pain easier to handle. It’s easier to see it until the turn comes to yourself. Not only do I write about scars on the skin, but it’s also just a surface because the ocean is also blue until…

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