almost lethalI'm drinking you like pure mercury.almost lethal3 years ago in Philosophical More Like This
On some certain days I ask myself; 'Can you really take all her words? Can you really handle all of her?', but till now, I'm not able to answer myself this simple question.
I think, I have to explain something to you (and me.)
There is this big, huge shelf full of thoughts and words and stories and memories and desperation and sadness and lives. (Most of the time, I prefer to talk about it as a shelf full of tea, but whatever it content is, it is full of you.)
I'm unable to pick a tiny box or even just a cup from there and then decide to not read it. It's simply impossible.
[To just think for myself became less favorable.]
Some of your things are delicious. Like a lovely earl grey after a long, hard day. Your words calm my soul and allay my blood. A bit of milk, two spoon full of sugar. Sometimes this is all I need.
But of course, there are also boxes with a patina of rust on it. Their labels are dirty and towelled at some spots. I can
the last rain"Did you ever recognized that pomegranates just look like round malicious brain tumours?" she asked me, then she took four of the stones and ate them. Her mouth was a dark, reddish tunnel with white, hard edges.the last rain3 years ago in Philosophical More Like This
The hollow shell of the red fruit laid beside her on this old brick wall.
A disemboweled torso.
My own head sunk backwards onto the stones, I stood there, both feet nailed on the ground. She was up in the air. It wasn't just metaphoric. It was real.
[She was next to the pomegranate and I was down there, unable to sat beside her as normal friends would do. As we used to do.]
And she smiled bright with red teeth, like a vampire child.
"No.." I answered slightly, "You took four of them, you know what that means..?" Of course she did.
Meanwhile, the sheep clouds passed by over an innocent afternoon sky and I tried to imagine her heartbeat.
[Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. It was the ticking of a clock. Almost Secure. Constant.]
blood-rushed riddlesI miss you.blood-rushed riddles4 years ago in Philosophical More Like This
I miss you, like a gash misses the knife that caused it.
Once upon a time, you played jigsaw with me.
You made a onehundred parts jigsaw out of me and hid one part,
the one I miss is..-
[Takin' a deep breath.]
Blood spilled out and I tried everything to fill the hollow spot.
Other knives. Spoons. Forks. Tea-bags. Memories. Ash. Clay (Even burned
clay). Paint particles. Book pages. Sand grains. Dust. Wine. Salt. Ink.
N o t h i n g matched. Nothing..
The mélange, out of cells suspended in a liquid called blood plasma, turned my clothes purple and my hands red.
And nothing fits.
I puzzled for a long time about what might have been the reason that you
made this cruel splitting with me (By the way, my heart sounds don't fit either..)
I think I'll never come to an end with this riddle.
Once I escape the box you built around me, there's already a new one.
But the colours inside are truly pretty.
Ninety-Nine versus One.
-the one I miss
is you and your sharp body.
gentlemen's agreementIt always was a gentlemen's agreement.gentlemen's agreement3 years ago in Philosophical More Like This
Although none of us was a gentleman or at least had a single spark of decency in the own body. But anyway. Everytime we were in the same town, we met. Alcohol, a cheap hotel room, no consequences, just sex. It was so fucking simple.
It was in the middle of something. Time was passing by just a little bit each day and so I shared with you what's have been left of me.
To be honest, I never believed that I was good in bed.
But somehow, you liked my way to touch your substance, your skin. You liked how I licked over your bones and bit in your soul. You liked me.
(Memory post-it. Yellow and sticky.)
It was always a gentlemen's agreement.
"No.. No, don't say it, please!" I tried to cover your mouth with my lips and fingers, tried everything to blur your thoughts into mist.
Just a whiff of your voice.
"I love you." You didn't speak it louder or firmer than my words, but somehow you managed them, your words, to scream in me like a big, wild animal.
the milk in the teaI tasted like vanishing hope, she told me.the milk in the tea4 years ago in Philosophical More Like This
I was like a drop of milk in tea, but in her build-up she was made out of hot water and green leaves.
So all I was doing, was to turn her world to a sickish colour and made her blood flaky.
Between two railways and one streetlight she then left me with nothing and her steamed up smile.
[Chattering in the sile.]
My mind circulate around in the cup that was named 'my brain', like in a swirl. I didn't leap on the next train, I just looked at the locomotive (It spit hot vapour into the sky which turned the above to the colour of Earl Grey) and the starting sunrise soaked my body with a reddish dye.
To stay on track in future, so they say, you have to jump on the train of live at the right station. [I waved the train good bye and watched it to go for good.]
Hour by hour passed by, but I remained by Five o' clock, unable to let this feeling go.
When the last train arrived the end of the line where I sat on the coarse gravel, (There was a smell of we
between two lungsI wanted to scream it right to her even face.between two lungs4 years ago in Philosophical More Like This
I wanted to scream so loud until all of these gross and harsh words would come out of my throat like liquid waste compound with shattered hate.
Big and hurtful enough that she could (visible for the naked eye) see my backbones.
I wanted to spit all my words towards her, with the ulterior motive that my blood is gonna drip on her lovely blouse and remain there for a long time.
She stood there, unimpressed and I was in front of her, irremovable.
[Face to face, with clenched fists. An old western-movie.]
She didn't say a word and I felt like my body almost swelled letters out.
Not to go down on my knees, not to throw up my life was like I suffered from pore blocking.
[Evening came and flung rolls of cloths over the park.]
I waited too long and then the grey came.
Did you know how anxious and possessive this colour is? It took away all the others, spilled its dark fluid on the streets and put its cloak coat around our bodies. Befo
morse from the galaxySigns were everywhere.morse from the galaxy3 years ago in Philosophical More Like This
Why didn't I see them in first place?
In the rain, my footprints left a trace of black. Black dots. Blotches. Spilled ink ·
They were everywhere.
This particular scent, a dash of fuel, a gentlemanly note hung over my clothes like the haze over the sink traps in the city.
Do you know what falling stars are? They are morse from the andromeda galaxy. Surreal telegrams of the universe.
I stood there, with a lighter in my hand. On this bridge. Under my feet was just air and deep down there was the street. The hard, cold, wet road with ant lines of rolling cars. They painted wild light thunderbolts on the concrete, sending me messages.
The city was full of rain and life and hidden meanings, enigmas, mysteries,
first-aid kitA mental disaster with illumination.first-aid kit3 years ago in Philosophical More Like This
That's how it-
That's how it started.
It was a chilly night. Rainy. I had broken up with my girlfriend and so did you. We were introduced by the friend of a friend and you bought me a shot tequila (From your nape.) The lights in the bar were gloomy, lightning-bugs frozen in a big jar, the pictures on the walls were strawberry remains, for sure.
This night I won the Wreck of the day"-, my Ex the Clever-Cover-Stories"- and your Ex the Best Bad Excuses" Award.
It was 3 A.M when you arranged a taxi for both of us and conducted me on the deep leather seats.
[Cheap beer. Cigarette ash. Sweat.]
My defense was paper thin, when I shared my award with you, because your eyes looked so fucking deep and your tongue was so sweet to taste.
And then we shared half of our lips, our skin, our anger, our bodies, our sadness, our flesh, a quarter litre tears and some drops of our blood.
You lay under my colours and I jousted with your riddles.
white blank pageThe problem.white blank page3 years ago in Philosophical More Like This
Sometimes, I have to rinse my mouth out because of that. I still have their taste on my tongue. Hers and his and yours.
I can't get rid of this and start scratching my tongue with the sharpest words I can find.
Piano Strings. Thorns. Glass. Edges. Fear. Grasp. Coldness. Heart ache. Claws. Saturn. Lemons. Tango Argentino. Summer Camp. Lips. Beer. Razors.
But now the taste is a composition of other peoples' souls and an aeruginous copper coin.
Like tea brewed with sewerage and withered moments. That and 300 grams full of blood.
I try to fight fire with petrol and end up in an uncomfortable faint. Deep inside this labyrinth [made of scratches and furrows]. It is the maze of my dreams. And my hands are filthy and viscid from what I found in their shadows and corners.
I'm lost. . . a g a i n.
Lock me up in my core, where everything is possible except an escape.
summer escapeA thing that is causing symptoms like a flushed face, vomiting, reddened eyes and very strange behavior. In some cases, it can create coma or death or both. One followed by the other. Any idea? Anyone? Two Words. Nineteen Letters.summer escape4 years ago in Philosophical More Like This
Your lips tore in half and you started to bleed out all those unique words. The sweet scent of alcohol float over you, like black garlands over a garden party. (Suddenly I remembered myself of a half comatose dream I once had, about red and black mourning flowers)
Unique. Time ran through my fingers like sand grains and one second before you had enough of confessing to me, I saw this beautiful castle made out of your thoughts. All of this. Your compliments, your mental souvenirs, your hidden gaze, your desperation. It was so much, that I almost felt like drowning in it. And then, before you raised your flag upon this castle, upon me. One damn second before you said that you always-
[It crashed down and didn't even make a sou
just a cuppaIt was five o' clock and so were we.just a cuppa4 years ago in Philosophical More Like This
Our blood was boiling and your sharp tongue collide with my body and let me bleed tea.
[I smelled like earl grey, you told me.]
Fume tinged with the colour of mercury rested upon my face as I inhaled your scent.
Soaring we created the perfect blend.
The bed was our lovely brew, the kisses the milk and your sweet moaning
We were p e r f e c t.
Dar(jee)ling, I'm dying for a cup of tea.
Her Brother's HeartShe said it once, she said it twice. The doctor blinked, his expression uncomprehending of such a request from one so young.Her Brother's Heart3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
'I'm sorry,' he apologised again, a slight frown pulling at his eyebrows, 'Could you repeat that?'
Absent-mindedly, the girl picked at a loose thread in her clothing, 'I want you to cut out my heart,' she answered for the third time, 'I want you to cut it out and I want you to give it to someone else, someone who can really use it, appreciate it.'
No less baffled, the doctor shook his head, 'But... but why...?'
'I think it's dead,' the girl replied, her tone emotionless, 'Or, at least, staying in this body kills it. My soul cannot sustain my heart. Not anymore.'
Intrigue tainting his professionalism, the doctor leaned across his desk, 'And what makes you say that...?'
Meeting his inquisitive gaze evenly, the girl said, 'At first it only hurt a little bit. That was when life started to go bad. My brother got sick, bu
the little things.The night caves in.the little things.3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
there are no more pretty words on my lips.
the stars fall like planes in a tailspin.
and there is no more beauty in my pen,
only the self-loathing that shadows my mind and the blade on my skin.
and he's seafoam in the drain,
as out of place here as the seashells inhabiting the dresser in my room.
its not poetry anymore,
and the pain in my chest is so real i can taste it like cold steel.
his toes at the edge of the precipice as he burns the night down. your lungs are filled with flour and your eyes with ashes.
its the little things that break you.
so i'll swallow the emptiness inside like a bitter medicine. bite my cheeks until they bleed out my insecurities. i'm rotting from the inside out, but i can't let them know it.
too afraid if i set the rot free it will destroy me completely.
but maybe its already destroyed me.
the acid in my veins has laid me bare and defenseless. the bile and unborn words in my che
InstinctWinter will deceive meInstinct3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
but society won't believe me
it's the forest that conceived me
but the cold that will retrieve me
great sages have taught me
only pain their words have brought me
a fool this world has made me
time itself will fade me
warriors, they will take me
a hunter they will make me
but a killer, don't mistake me
my own bones, they will break me
but the rain will reunite me
side/walk someone told me the side-side/walk3 years ago in Concrete Poetry More Like This
-walk just split and (i'm blindfolded)
i don't (know which way) to walk
i don't (want to
biopsyput me under, cover my face, stuff my lungs with your chemical lies.biopsy3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
if they were to take me apart,
slice open my chest,
peel back the skin keeping me whole,
they would find:
a. one heart, slowly ticking.
(they would not find anything,
but they would have to say they did.
after all, girls can't live without a heart.
they forget that i'm not the first:
a score of girls walking even though
they should have faded long ago.)
b. each rib curved so perfectly,
a shield around my lungs.
(a cage, keeping my breath from bursting
out of my skin. know that this is just me,
held together by nature,
unable to lose control of myself.)
c. two sacs of cells, nestled beside each other.
(no first-hand smoke here, no sir.
only second-hand dust, only
things i could not get rid of,
only bits of places i've been,
caught in my body.
postcards of memories i can't see.)
d. a skeleton, still and alive.
(sleeping, with blood cells being produced
in the hollows of my curves.
the rattling of my bones cannot
ersatzyour wake is the warmersatz4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
languid whorl of a sachet-latté
gone when six a.m. rain swirls
pavement scents of whiskeysmoke
& a careless caress away
under cinnamon-sugar grace --
and it was only ever this:
you were lovely
by trembled halflight, when you almost had
my summer-boy's eyes.
OrpheusI hitchhiked down the highway to hellOrpheus4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
With four fifty in my back pocket
And a suitcase of nightmares hitting my heels
There's black lipstick smeared on my collarbones
Vodka dreams slithering through my hair
Tonight, I'll be a monster
Swallow you up with paint fumes and a bottle of schnapps
The red pickup shudders and my hips creak
Like brass hinges, then I'm there
And Cerberus sniffs at my bloody wrists
I pop pomegranate seeds like pills and Hades
Can't make me look back cause tonight
I'm a monster
And no silver bullet will shatter me
AvianYou used to tell her she had bird bones -Avian4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
it was only a joke,
but you would hold her tightly
so she could not fly away.
Now you carry starlings in your pockets
to feel their little hearts
fluttering much like hers did
when you lay your head upon her chest,
heart beating the way yours did,
before she flew away with it
as you always knew she would.
Tonight you are haunted
by a swan with a broken neck.
It is a dream,
just a nightmare,
but you know that it is her...
She has returned to you
decked out in feathers,
choking on a heart,
and you're frightened as hell
at how god damn beautiful
she is in broken symmetry,
but you find relief in your fistfuls of feathers.
and then, you changed.For years, you used to ask me what you were to me.and then, you changed.3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
And I would always say, "Nothing," until you finally understood that there was nothing you could do that could ever hurt me.
When we were children, there were no monsters under your bed. Just dead frogs and lizards from the pond on your doorstep.
You asked your sister, "Why do things die?"
"Because death is a part of life," she told you with a loving hand in your hair and a calming hug waiting for you later. But her eyes pinned me over your shoulder.
She never told you it was because Erik wouldn't stop killing them.
Flowers die, too. So I flattened them in your schoolbooks for you to find.
And you thought it was romantic. You showed them to your friends and told your sister you had a secret admirer.
I often wondered how you would've felt if you saw their ashes blow away with the wind, when I later burned them out on the deck.
It took you two years. You left a note in my locker junior year asking if I wanted to go out
ambivalence[It could be so easy.]ambivalence3 years ago in Emotional More Like This
I'm sitting inside this café at the corner of an old town. A small confectionery, swallowed by life. The reflection of my face placed between two letters. E and S.
"Jersey's"? Or Jealou and Sy?
The green-eyed monster makes way and Mr. Time flashes by, grabbing some pancakes with blueberries. Doesn't even greet me. I'm sure you'd understand him well.
How could I ever possibly explain it to you?
My throat is clogged from all the words I've swallowed.
If I spit them out and puzzle them together, how many different picturesque reprovals would ensue?
The shopkeeper gives me this compassionate look. Ts. Bullshit.
A key I left here some years ago. "A friend should come and pick it up soon. Can I leave it here thitherto? Yeah? Thanks."
The doorbell on the right corner of this old wooden door had little to do.
The reflection in the mirror explains to me that it's hard to smile right now. Wordlessly.
If you aren't here I can't get rid o