The reality of my being

I wish I was so weak that I could allow myself to break into pieces. I wish I could allow myself to feel, really feel what it means to live with a broken heart. I would cry, I would scream and then it would be over. It is just a moment. But I have no
strength left; I don’t have the power to express my inner pain.

Even by saying scream, cry, the voice of my soul gently whispers to me: You have already done that, that is why you cannot repeat this event, make it be a second reality. Your inner dreams sound is a constant scream and the tears are made of blood,tear drops that explode and disappear in black holes.

Feelings become memories when they are expressed. I can only dare to express love. That is the only kind of memories I want to be responsible for. This is what I am

I am love anything else would be against my nature. I will not destroy myself. I will not become someone else. Someone that I don’t know . . .

If the shoe doesn’t fit . . . Hurl it!

. . . and walk barefoot towards unknown destinations . . .




What good will it do
When everything is overdue
Well. Don’t overthink, is a good advice
You don’t have to say it twice

Yesterday night Morpheus took me in his arms
fairies sang me a lullaby and in the morning; Death
opened my eyelids with his middle finger, woke me up
singing: “Wham! Wake me up before you go go”
Are you flipping kidding me!? I muttered to myself angstfully
and yawned, hugged my pillow and snorted, the alarm clock rang

The sun is visibly shining today
Gray clouds tattered and swift
and I am still breathing so make another wish
The everyday struggle has barely began