Log in

No account? Create an account

surreal love

Mar. 1st, 2011 | 04:43 pm

feels like I'm in love
shaking all over
bedded in a soft dream

his romance, sweet and pure
he is different from me
still I control his deeds

the surreal feeling possesses me
can't grab you for real
it's your fictional part

impossible to fully become happy
we know it perfectly well
suppressing with all might
to have a chance to feel happy
only for a short time

Link | Leave a comment | Share


May. 25th, 2010 | 01:46 pm

If you knew
what would you do
would you be cold
would you be astonished

you're my crutch
though you are different from whom I wish you to be
all I want is
a look
maybe a smile
maybe a word of kindness
to end this ignorance

I really want to be your friend
let me enter your world
if you knew
if only you knew...

Link | Leave a comment | Share


May. 7th, 2010 | 01:17 am

silence lingers here
like heavy curtains made of velvet
'he's the sweetest taste of sin'
eyelids close without my kiss tonight...

Link | Leave a comment | Share


May. 6th, 2010 | 02:12 pm

On this day of black sky
I'm trying to revive
but the heart beat refuses
pressure in my head
makes me long for nicotine
I can't focus
I can forgive
I can't forego.

Link | Leave a comment | Share


May. 5th, 2010 | 11:33 am


I will fuck you recklessly.

Link | Leave a comment {1} | Share


Mar. 31st, 2010 | 04:07 pm

the endless torture goes on
rushing through life without rest
one fight is done
fighting another
fighting each other

No sleep
No calls
Nothing in return

Love is always followed by pain
in between
and after
because there is nothing good
without the bad

Link | Leave a comment | Share

My loaded gun

Mar. 20th, 2010 | 04:59 pm

One shot of my loaded gun
and Captain Marvel perished
because dissapointing love must die
I am not the kind of person that can only give

For this
I'm leaving
taking pictures off my wall

When suddenly I am at a place
from which I see how small you are

is not so bad, is it?

Link | Leave a comment | Share

confession to the moonlight

Jan. 24th, 2010 | 06:38 pm

In the bitterly cold night
a spotlight on your bare, husked soul
clinged to a microphone stand
because it is all you have...

A cautious look beyond protective arms
hiding innocence
his shoulders tremble softly...
until in the bright, sharp moonlight

his soul breaks.

Link | Leave a comment | Share

The Glass Box

Sep. 7th, 2009 | 07:58 pm

The young child, born in a glass box, always lived without being able to stretch out her crippled limbs...
She grew up soon and watched the grim world with attentive eyes, felt the rain and the sun on her skin... perceived the sound of the sea, but never saw it, because her world was the box made of glass…

One day at midsummer, when the red poppy was in full bloom and the vast meadow bloodily shone, a man walked along the track and alighted on the grass.
He carried a harmonica and while a lukewarm breeze rustled in the deciduous trees, she watched his lips slowly enclosing the instrument... creating a sound that made her shudder under a spell...
It was more truthful than the rustling of the leaves, meeker than the roaring of the sea... more splendid than the singing of the birds...
Then he lowered the instrument and a blissful smile lapped around his features.
He got up again and the harmonica disappeared in the pocket of his jeans...

Appalled, the girl understood he wanted to leave.
She leaped to her feet, accidentally bumping her head on the ceiling.
She cat-called him, shouted with all her might, scraped her hands on the walls of the box, but he did not hear her and decreased in the setting sun, following the inevitable farewell...

She swore to herself to meet him again…
She scratched at the wall, cohered the falling shavings with her tears and created a glass harmonica sounding more beautiul than any other instrument in the world.
Many years passed until it was finished and she was already old when she played it for the first time.
That night, it seemed the wind stopped blowing, the earth quaked and the clouds withdrew from the moon... But the man she was longing for did not return from the music...
The morning after, she had died; the pale sound of music still lingerling in the box drowned out by the drenching rain... forever remaining unnoticed...

In the afternoon, a young girl came along the way, cheerfully playing on her harmonica.
But then she tripped on something…It was the last splinter of the broken glass box…
She pulled off the shoe to drew out the splinter, carelessly discarded it to the wayside and continued her way through the sunny fields…

Link | Leave a comment {1} | Share


Jul. 28th, 2009 | 02:38 pm

and raise me
to the podium

drown me
in a rush of endorphin
the violent red
the passionate red
this is my world beyond limits

Link | Leave a comment | Share