You can stay, if you want to, she told me, blowing away The smoke of past, present and future cigars Seeming as distant and cold as the pale moon and I Began to feel so useless in her arms, like a broken vase With dried up flowers sitting in a remainder of a muddy water And ever so foolish, like waiting in a queue for a monster roller coaster That I had no intention of riding. image source: unsplash
Mornings come and morning go Faded in a mist of coffee and pale smoke of Burnt toast, I feel this man’s hands could squeeze me Breathless just as easily as he can ease the pain From my tense shoulders, his jawline skin is blue and bruised from razors From midnight fights, from lustful kisses, he never tells me Where he’s been, but I don’t mind, I’m only thinking He’s surprisingly young for a god image source: unsplash
The movie had ended and the boy sat up He looked so solemn, so troubled, as he fought The tears awaiting behind his eyes, the photography was lovely, The story simply brilliant, he especially liked The joyful play of the sunlight flaring on the windows, The growingly opaque blue smoke swallowing the tiny houses The forest mist to which they woke each morning The beginning of a new day, so significantly blooming Why wasn’t real life as cinematic? It would…
We sat there for several hours The wind squeezed its way into the car Through the slightly cracked open window It made a whistling sound, like Thomas, the building site worker, Used to make whenever high school girls in skirts passed by Oblivious to his hungry, wolflike stare, surprising Isn’t it, she said, suddenly breaking the silence, How little is there left to say, and I nodded in agreement Watching the end credits roll down my car windshield image @…
We broke up just yesterday evening, It was a common courtesy to wait until The tea had been drank, the cookies have been eaten, The sugary crumbs thrown away to diabetes prone pigeons, Tip tapping their little crimson feet on our window pane You don’t make me feel good anymore, I said Opening the window, patting one of the most Domestic pigeons of the pack, you know, he said Rising up to meet my gaze, no one Can make you…
And what have I ever did to you?!, I beg Of the entire world out there, mysterious and mischievous, hidden behind a big blanket of rain Drenched in sweat, soaking wet, tears rushing down my face Their salty sting bothering the creases Of my lips, but there is no one There to answer, the storm makes people Ask questions and feel defeated by a hallowing silence The only sound is heavy rain, hurling down at me From a raging, spiteful…
I loved the way she used to dress. Buttery white silk Victorian nightgowns and roman slippers Sliding on some pantyhose and putting on some dark green stilettos To get out of the house and smoke her cinnamon cigars At the decrepit cafe on St Jude’s Avenue, all my friends envied me For having such a beautiful, troubled older sister that made Giving up on life look so glamorous. Anyway, time has passed The nightgowns are worn out and covered by…
This morning when I opened the window it seemed The sky wore a brand new set of colors, more spectacular Than the pinks and blue and yellow, the clouds Seemed of butter and milk and the sun was somewhere Far beyond the trees, their leaves seemed lit from within I broke to tears, sometimes the world is too much too handle Sometimes it feels like you were absurdly lucky to have found God’s fingerprints on your window Image @ unsplash
Zâmbetul tău e un compus chimic ciudat, e doloric și euforic, Îmi dau seama că e mult exercițiu acolo, e un zâmbet făcut Pentru cineva care nu-i acolo, e un zâmbet pentru portofoliu Te iubesc pentru el, dar nu mi-aș dori să fiu în locul tău Pentru nimic în lume – când ești actor, cum îți mai dai seama Când s-a terminat un rol? sursa imaginii: unsplash
