Bathoric liberation*

She will cut that green rope
That ties her thoughts to your body
She’ll etch it into small pieces
So small, as if it never existed

You will not haunt her mind
She will mislead her senses
To talking you out of her system
To concealing you six feet under

You will not be her last
She has a long way to go
See she is eternal
As eternal as that rope

rotate*

When lust dies in your cunt
And the colors of life fail to satisfy your eager imagination

When you fancy pushing the edge; drowning it
And let go of your senses; splashing them
The same way you dashed your dreams and aspiration

When you refuse to feel soreness and soothe
And give up your attempts of becoming a human

When you wake up looking like a cloud
So hollow, so light

Then, wrap a piece of cloth around your wrist
And punch the first wall you see
Punch the state of nothingness you’ve been residing in
The wall of the illusionary box you’ve been inhabiting
Let go of your shadow
And breathe

Saturday’s delusion

I call to ask you if you can help me masturbate – see the polish on my nails has not dried yet and I won’t risk painting my groin. She answers your phone with a horny voice, telling me that your hands are not free –they are fist fucking her.

I hang up. Grab my dildo and go to my bed.

Morning after, I wake up to see a text message on my phone “hey baby, how about I see you tonight?”

I throw the phone out of my window. And throw you out of my mind.

Evening, you knock on my door. I open for the door give you my dildo with a small note saying: “insert me in your hole”. I close the door and go back to bed.

My sardonic infatuation*

Today I feel like a drug addict who has just quit sniffing.
My body aches and hurts.
I have chills of cold rushing from my back to toes.
Today I decided to quit on him.
Will you scratch my back one last time?
I crave hallucinations
And sonar blow jobs
I long for the sound of him, inhaling, exhaling my poison.

Today I went to work naked.
The ashes all over my desk hypnotized my thoughts.
The gazes of people around me did not stir my self-consciousness.
I saw him in my drawer, in my cup of coffee and on my shelf.
Come take me out of here.
Somewhere, anywhere, I don’t care.
His ghost is worse than my drugs.

Pieces of me*

Clarity*

I know what’s on the menu for tonight

You will drown your dreams

At the bottom of a southern comfort

But the sweet taste of alcohol

Won’t damage your brain cells;

For these have mutated years ago

It won’t ruin your dreams either

This tickling feeling will perfectly suit

Your dark material, my muse

You will blossom into a thousand cacti

Aconites, black locusts and Christmas roses

Your shining will disintegrate feeble minds,

Eradicate normality the way we know it

And shall set free humanity’s greatest gift

This piece was written about me *blushing* by MMMMMMMMM - again!

MMMMMMMMM, you should know I much appreciate you as a human first and as one of the greatest and totally unforgettable people I have met in my life - for your simplicity and complexities, your wits and lightheartedness, your sarcasm and your appreciation of the little things .

I don't think I will be able to practice momentary "priceless" insanities, enjoy my daydreams while sipping my iced coffee under the sun with anyone, like I do with the vault^^. Not to mention speaking about my imaginary friends :P *a million hugs*

A hole in my web*

To be attached yet alienated,
Appreciated yet hollow.
To fall from highest skies
Right into deepest mud
A thousand times a day,
Yet always walk head up high
Constructing the wall,
Thickening the wall,
That wraps all emotions
And veils all scars.

To succeed in leaving a scratch
Into the most fragile;
Yet never to be able to go too far.

To be the one and no one
The unique and the typical
The beloved and the whore
The lustful and the shameless

To be at the heart of it, adored
Yet outside of it, and totally abhorred

Of acid nights.

We stepped inside the room. It was all white. The clock stopped ticking. Of course it did. The room is not from this space. But are we?

The morning after. The smell of booze. The ache between the legs. The fluctuating mood.

The room is still white. And the clock is still not ticking.

The flawless late night talks have vanished into thin air.

“Where are we now?”

“In empty space.”

“Look me in the eyes, and tell me we are real.”

“We are as real as the nothingness around us.”

“Let’s go home.”

“This is my home.”

He stood up and got dressed. He stepped out. The clock started ticking. I fell into deep sleep. Awaiting the start of another dream.

An eternal promise of a twist.

Would you like your mind in a cup of tea?

Would you like some milk with it?

A cookie maybe?

You must have missed living rationally …

It has been a while since I have taken over your intellect.

You know, to be honest, you look better with each day that
comes!

You must have gotten accustomed to living mind-less.
Wit-less.

I can see you are trying to make the best out of it!

Then again, hell with reason!

I’ll keep it with me,

In that tiny purple see-through jar.

I will inject it every day

With distortion and perversions.

You will have it back some day,

Mind you, it will not be the same;

You will not be the same!

In your mailbox, this morning.

Dear used, misused and totally abused fellow,


How can I make you forget that I have raped your mind? I have fucked it, so hard, it blew up.

Do you think I would be able to glue its pieces back together, and make it new again?

Can I paint it a different color this time? Can I give it more abilities? I mean, I’d love to make it more insane yet less daring, more creative yet less damaging, more disturbed yet able to feel …

Can you imagine your mind in pink? Can you imagine it outside your head? Looking you in the eyes, daring you to defeat it?

How can I delete your memory?

Tell me, can you ever forget a twist?

I will be eagerly awaiting your reply.


Yours truly,
Lust

Tango is a dance for two. only.

It is late at night
That she feels
And she crumbles
And she loses control
And she faints


Every night
Same scenario
Every night
Same flow of events


Only He changes
His words
And His endeavors
His dreams
And his trepidations


But she is the same
She is one
With all
And she remains
The illusion of them all

Comatose.

See that blade?

Grab that blade

Caress my crust

Head to toe

Dig it deeper

Into the membrane

Make it hurt

Gratifying pain

Not too deep

Not too superficial

Just enough

To make me ache

Just enough

To make me smirk

Just enough

To make me feel

What it is like

To be real

Free my temple

From attachment

And my spirit

From emotions

Free my mind

From temptation

Then stamp my neck

Your “second-hand” stamp

And send me over

To the other side

Being Her Pitifully Ironic Self*

It is like smelling the scent of his skin,
But not being able to touch it.

Like stepping into a pool of water,
And getting out drained.

Like forcing the knife into the skin,
Watching the blood flooding out,
And not feeling.

Like being a fraction of a second away
From reaching an orgasm,
And having an abrupt emotional breakdown.

Like dreaming of utopia,
And waking up to ugly reality.

Like sparing your virginity,
Till the prince charming on the white horse shows up,
And dying a spinster.

Like accepting loss, never caring,
Yet never daring to try again.