well fed-08.07.11

*artwork-“fatigue” by tom bennett via saatchiart.com

I grew to hate the aftertaste of your kisses.

It lingers for hours.

My home suffocates under the shield of your cigarettes

And leftovers of lust.

You’ve been worshiped for so long

That now I can barely take you.

I am sick of hearing your impotent words

And your once mind-bending touch

Went sour.

 

I am overdosed.

Yet so scared of letting go.
 

 

 

 

the shadow of nicole and marrast-04.02.11

*artwork-  “impostor” by leslie ann o’dell via leslieannodell.com

being displeased
tiny bug bites within
feeds on disappointment
eats frozen invoiced words
wormish sleeky tales
of illusions that won’t ever bring light
unfriendly friends
sly enemies
hello, i say
when they come so close
i can touch with my bare hands
feel through steely hearts
look into their eyes
inhale their lies
this stream of  hollow promises
destined to die quietly
but my stomach
holds hope, in the farthest rooms
of the reddish matter
that’s called intestines
i like to show it off
and to pretend
being the fair one.

who are you?-5.12.10

*artwork-“empathy”  by John Edward Marin via fineartamerica.com

who are you people? countless names on countless pages. is it all about comfort? and why destroy freshly built basics? he who likes Kurt Vonnegut and Milorad Pavic, damn geniuses, i adore being adored being the smart one playing with enchanting music attached to words that have no meaning to me and books little book worm, devouring pages under the blanket that’s what i was and now words are pale. i want to be understood, and, maybe, forgiven.

she says i’ve got to-17.01.10

*artwork- frustration by mehran roozbahni

she says i’ve got to try to like this little girl and i wonder, what is the way? i wish i could friend her on facebook she says i’ve got to stop pushing her away, stop erasing her from this hard disk on the back of my mind, mossy used to say she says i should be empathetic… should i? for something that i can not really grasp? or remember? coward. i hide among all these names that barely have faces just so i won’t have to see my own and there they go so precious so unimportant i keep this puzzle of pieces with no unique form i choose where to place them while i lay in my bed and do not remember whose stomach is pressed against my back.

for my own good-6.01.10

*artwork- view of the exhibition “Powerless Structures” at Tel Aviv Museum of Art

what was i when was i one of these …imprisoned on white islands of metal solitude on each – imperfect youth so early broken, nearly left in it together so painfully alone. perverted arc, “it’s for your own good”, they said and others – silent, impotent was i tied and shaved, and waiting…

can it be hate, right now?-14.12.09

*artwork- “in love and hate” by sherrie thai via flickriver.com

can it be hate, right now? for beauty of a kind that never lasts decays and disappears, fades away for good so simply complicated i only searched for touch too horrified to look too petrified to see beyond there’re no soothing lips that cover can it be hate, right now? he never is. he never stays. i know, 10000 times a ” yes” rom is a mere romance all that he is- a shadow drained out well a mother and a father he’s never loving, never loved can it be hate, right now? execrated beauty? condemned smile? and what about the curving smoke that always walled me out? and all these words that were never born? these hands? so feminine. that choke with tender. can it be hate, right now? still blinded i crave to smear blood your own tears and blood. all over pretty face. i die to smack these lips, so womanlike. i want to make you cry and ache god damn ache and cry please, cry can it be hate, right now? or is it still a love?

transparent like the powder i wore-13.12.09

transparent like the powder i wore i felt on Thursday on Friday, being reclusive nomad, pushing aside all smart ass reasons, i left  my fortress home, for us this hour and a half means nothing along the shoreline, through the rain oh, fast as dreaming, i traveled. excited like this sea and it was storming and then. you are the shelter Saturday morning. too good to bare, so i begin to question the eyes are all of a sudden moist you’re comfortless. thus madly tender. the girl is coming. more real than real. she’ll clean your mess. she did in august. i do not hate her. i pity her for she is as hostage here as i am i smell like you and sex and she is present, watching soon it’s her turn i want to throw up. i am nowhere still have no place. another man is out there. he has some room for me. he waits while i deceive with you. oh, how romantic. it’s sickening. so you get strength to throw up for that, i am impaired homeless i don’t believe you when you say my name i am the snake, remember? you are the one who charms i am there only when you are not oh, you kiss the gentlest when you know i am hurt

of imminently shifting tides-10.12.09

*artwork- drawing by kosta gurgov

deputed beggar spotless junky getting no share. i am gone. hungered by anger stabbed with self pity embedded by excluding shame again, i am being tortured while glue-like minutes drip away that’s who i am unheeded child, still waiting, miserably restless, for ever evanescent mom. Greek tragedy… predestined rocking… oh, mother, is there any good in talking (of imminently shifting tides?)