*artwork- “wound” by pejac via artcollectorz.com
When I pick a scab,
Tiny echo of ache,
What do I wish to feel?
Quite simple.
To feel.
It’s yearning for yearning.
An infinite plowing through barren fields
Of terrain so hard and frozen.
Burnt.
Forsaken.
Orphaned.
No woman’s land.
My enslavement to pain
Never loosens its grip.
Devout hostage to sour lump in my throat, I am.
Won’t ever spit out
Won’t ever push in.
That’s right. For
Being tormented is of rarest value.
*artwork- via docolucci.deviantart.com
When fantasy is so brilliantly blinding
I delightfully step up into my noose
Sweetest addiction of being stood up to
Is strong and present and oh so exciting
After all, there’s so much to lose
*artwork-via www.houzz.com
| he was the lamb wishing to be the shark, years of struggling, and he did get there, but i never came, trying to get rid of myself. given to the hands of curiosity with nothing to remember but this empty street and deserted man, it was easy. playing in the same team with my own nature, we spent meaningless hours sprinkled with random talking about books. suddenly, it occurred that he was so near, and for almost a year i felt these warm words followed by cold drops of closeness. twice i was a coward: being colorblind, i waited for so long to share, but he was the one who took my colors, giving none back. already colorless, i was fleeing and he let me taste this black and white soup, it tasted like happiness. into the wilderness, i got lost, and fell down ,slithered, for he was the snake. and he was the snail. and again i was sinking into the goo i wished to produce, even though on that moment he was sticky and sweet and melting like sugar. soon on a night of exhilaration i was the one to hold his hand on a way home, and we laughed. then he was beautiful, tearing my skirt he wore, so frozen and distant, i felt. so that i needed to escape into engineered world of scheduling and brushing the teeth after every meal, it couldn’t last. on the roof top we drank sour wine and spilled out well known secrets, he knew how to surprise my feet and tickle my heart. i wanted my heart un-ticklish, but it refused to obey, because he was so upright, and so small, and so much larger than i could ever imagine or bare, so i let go. just to see that he was a red head pirate, fighting his own demons, he could not fight those mine. on that moment he became roman, forever turning jerusalem into sanctuary. i got caught up and it all turned into a big mash with a guitar music dressing. i needed to breath, so now he was showing me his paintings and i was breath(ing)less again. that’s why he was young and his hair was big, he played saxophone during nights and i was smiling. wearing beautiful dress, and smelling like me and like everyone, i was talking to him in the dark, and my lips were touching his skin. i was hiding in holy jerusalem, when he came again, and took me into his pre-planned world of tomorrow, we never celebrated the moment. so i ran away, and then he was worshiping Buddha and climbed mountains, while i was sad. so he came straight from his own reality holding that mirror. he wanted to pull me in, i preferred to fade away. into what used to be sacred jerusalem, but only closer to the polluted sea. all of a sudden, i was near holy heights again: he was another lamb, hiding in god’s lion skin, digging out secrets buried in earth, so delicate and warm, he was, i thought i can breath for real, but i was suffocating until i managed to leave. for long nights i waited for the moment when i could go back dancing on my own, and barefoot bear put me under the spotlight and into the game. satan was lurking just around the corner, making illusive southern desert look like luxurious oasis, it hurt deliciously. so i chose to try out north, the heat was strikingly immense, but little black eyed demon was as cold as marble. |
*artwork-“le regret” by charbel samuel aoun
| another kind eyes decorated with a smile to celebrate all the good things that are out there, made all the bad things that are in me rise. shamelessly. enclosed in my own self i laugh out loudly waking up all the demons, and scaring off all the angels, who guard no more. i laugh out loudly, watching loads of instances of choices that were never made dancing, swirling with the dust of chances that were never taken. |
*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.
*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, i want to be understood, |
*artwork-“smoke” by brigitte werner via pixabay.com
| for more than two hundred and seventy days i pushed away, it was not easy. funny it feels, the tips of stiff fingers tremble and heart pounds so fast. this face in front of me. still precious? or is it? just impatience, covered with thin layer of curiosity covered with thick layer of urge to destroy. everything’s so familiar these feminine hands, hiding behind ever present cigarette and convenient smoke. hello, roman. i just wanted to say good-bye. |
*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, she says i should be empathetic… coward. i hide among all these names that barely have faces |
on my way up 