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Literature
small talk
going through this thing where I'm
ricocheting off people,
always talking, always mumbling words like
'how's and 'are's and 'you's,
grinning, blinking, handshaking,
words that barely pierce the outer shell,
her eyes are
clear,
her skin is
clean
and she's looking at me but the only thing i can mutter is
'how are you ?'
it's either
life's a race to be entertaining
or i have nothing left to say,
it's either
fear of abandonment
or everything you think has already been said,
i can't tell -
awareness is a thing that never stays,
clear things get hazy the following days,
intimacy seems dangerous when you can always just ask about work.
-
small talk,
words that don't mean much and don't solve any symptoms
of paralyzing loneliness,
small talk,
a sugar pill.
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Literature
living, loving a.a.t.o.t.
air,
i am taking it in and out of my lungs,
words, putting them in and out of my thoughts,
men and women and elders and children and we talk,
pieces of paper and pencils and pens,
keyboards and keys and computer screens,
words come out and they're
full of the things that i've thought and i said,
and it's late,
like the things one can search for at 4 am are
closure, composure and a way to end
the cycle of
day in - day out - paralyzing sleep.
apartment blocks slumber and breathe
like tired old men with grainy skin,
buzzing tv noises fade into the sound of steps
into the sound of car tires that roll on the asphalt and melt,
i
breathe in walls and leaves and fences and entire streets,
i exhale car smoke and sighs through the teeth,
it's getting awkward,
like the imprints of my shoes on the pavement and how
they make me feel like i'm sinking in,
can't tell if i'm sleeping or if i'm paralyzed here,
but i'm dreaming and the days i dream about are the ones
when i'm capable of living, loving
an
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Literature
talking to myself
trapped by a sense of leaving things unfinished,
by a fear of never being enough,
entangled.
while the things worth writing about seem impossibly distant,
frigid,
forever young just seems forever dumb,
forever numb,
awake and alive but what's the point -
alive, a life of living as a ghost,
inside your body but not really,
inside of your mind but not really,
like the things that you do have the shape that you give them
but no feeling at all
like the words that you say have their weight but it's lead.
but in the end,
maybe it's not about making the right decisions
but about the wrong ones we consciously make,
maybe this whole self sabotage thing is the one that you do well,
maybe this pursuit of happiness is just a cup
in which you mix up your doubts and this stupid fear of abandonment that keeps growing roots and twigs in your lungs,
like the cause for the things that you feel
is surely deep rooted itself in a place in your head
where we're both too young to know how to get there
foreve
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Literature
thunderstorm
i'm turning into a whirlwind
of anger and jealousy,
things crumble under the weight of the things that i shout
and i crumble under the weight of a voice i don't recognize,
like having a piece of chalk stuck in your throat,
shards of glass in my mouth i bleed words that hurt,
i am anger and blindness
floating through thick smog - dirty rain on a city of cowards,
the kind that leaves your skin muddy
with thick drops that roll on your cheeks,
with tears that leave us both senseless,
guilty,
dirty of being.
i am turning into a sea of tears,
a twisting ocean of salt and eyewater,
shores come full with my apologies
and the thing that makes your chest feel heavy and tastes like guilt.
i'm making mistakes,
taking steps and wild guesses,
living empty days and nights without sun,
while the shadows i cast don't look like mine
and the things that i say sound like hail and winter wind that stings the skin,
weather vanes spin and i'm
summer rain and desert droughts altogether,
sand into waves into t
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Literature
Hundred Waters
wasting precious time
thinking about wasting my life,
when does it come?
the release i've been waiting for so long,
the end of the line.
when time seems to either run amok or crawl
where do you find yourself while
your footprints seem to be all around the room and walls,
places in which i don't remember being,
places i've heaved through with no trace of my own.
-
-
making plans for the future,
setting up a tight schedule to increase productivity,
exercising synergy and teamwork capabilities,
falling into crippling depression,
drifting on the streets, not walking,
what does it happen when nothing goes according to plan?
what do you get when the only thing you seem to get is petrified.
searching for walls in which not to bump,
staring intensely at screens and the bottom of glasses,
'i thought i had it in me.'
-
taking deep looks in the mirror
until the body in it is just somebody else's,
scarred skin and chipped teeth don't mean a thing,
the hundred waters that will wash you at the Heave
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Literature
sunflowers
i keep searching for 'When I'll's,
When I'll be twenty-five,
When I'll find a wife,
but right now i find it hard to let you go,
when i spend my days daydreaming about you
and i feel
clocks ticking, voices speaking,
friends becoming lovers
and i feel
cars on the street with rusty exhaustion tubes
and trees with branches that grow and break and fall off,
and it's all so clean how days turn into nights again and again,
and i'm thinking how when I'll see you again I will touch your face
and you'll do the same to me.
and i, I, i, I
spend my days thinking of you
but only at night i seem to be awake,
days just pass and summer leaves keep wilting
and i don't find myself the man i used to be,
perhaps
when we'll meet again
i won't know much what to say, just that
I found it hard to let you go.
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Literature
Boundaries
the kind of things you see only with your eyes closed,
the ties between us and how we're not what we used to be anymore,
the way her gestures seem to be the same, but she's a got kick to it,
a bang,
a fit of rage while she's washing the dishes,
a clenching of the fists, one of those noiseless grunts.
i used to have the soul of a poet
but i lost it on the way,
i wake up and for the next 16 hours i only see my hands,
my feet, my things,
all mine,
i think i only think about myself,
i don't know if that's what poets do,
not sure it is, most likely isn't,
but i never knew how to feel things outside my body,
enjoy in the heavenly pleasures of someone else's laugh,
and i had never thought to step in somebody else's shoes,
to put my feet on something that ain't mine.
-
while
time spins round like a fucking tornado,
and i touch faces and you touch hands,
while i see beauty and you have conversations,
i hope each one of us gets his/her fair share of people to enjoy,
to be happy for and have them
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Literature
m_rn_ng
teeth chipping,
skin wrinkling,
mornings disappearing from sight.
new music, old rhythms,
same body in which you usually spend your time.
i've been feeling fast, i've been feeling slow,
a waterfall ready to come crashing down,
i've been feeling ready for a while to jump out the window and swallow all the cars on the street.
-
heavy shoulders,
your burden to carry becomes the fact that you don't know how to carry things,
move slow, think fast,
struggle like you know you'll get there eventually.
-
feeling it and tasting it until it gets bitter,
while the certainty of dreams chips away like my teeth,
i seem to draw the path but it only gets
blurred out.
waking up in the m_rn_ng,
with that kind of feeling when you know you'll forget what's happening right now,
sit in my chair like i know what i'm doing
while the things around me keep doing their thing:
paint on the walls keeps flaking,
carpet and desk get dusty,
power outlets and screens heat up when turned on.
-
and i keep doing my thing
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Literature
the ox, the tiger and the snake
lately, my life's been consisted of only
either deep meditation or deep self-loathing,
i am the ox, the tiger, the snake and i'm all the seven chakras.
i am the self-defeating son who can not handle failure,
i'm one with the universe and the ever-flowing life force,
i'm one with the worthless garbage piling up in the street.
-
a 200 pounds assembly of bones and soft tissue
numbly caving in.
what's the point of it if you're not
well-adjusted
and able to put yourself to good use.
-
finding comfort and meaning in
screens projecting
lives i'm not living,
smiles i'm not smiling
and girls i'm not fucking in the sense that women are only objects to be consumed
like food, or cigarettes, or alcohol.
what is there for a boy to learn besides
fucking, biting and gnawing on bones,
when fathers are dull and mothers are there just to weep.
-
I AM THE OX, THE TIGER AND THE SNAKE
but i'm failing to muster their composure,
failing to be a man with teeth of his own,
failing to hold a woman like she's not
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Literature
it'slike
sitting in my chair and it feels like i'm speeding through the atmosphere,
walking on the street and it's like i'm sinking hundreds of miles with every step,
walls and windows seem to
e-va-po-rate.
'you forgot your keys', she says as i'm about to go out the door,
we glance at each other and it's like i won't need them anymore -
rushing to the
elevator, into the street, to the
bus station, getting on the bus
like i'm leaping fucking Mt. Himalaya, getting
bent like a piece of thick wire,
other cars passing by seem to crash and crumple like paper
and i'm standing there, in the bus, with every breath i take it feels like
i'm breathing in the Earth's whole atmosphere in gulps.
i take a big one this time,
the kind that goes beyond just your lungs
and gets felt all the way to the fingertips.
veins seem to bubble and boil,
wrists and knees tighten up,
as i exhale, it's like i'm pouring my face in a cold bucket,
it's like the knots that keep you rigid while awake get untied,
skin seems to turn
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Literature
seventeen
waiting for time to pass so you can reach the good times
seems to me like
waiting for life to pass in order to start living.
if so, what part of you are you going to listen to?
the one that tells you to bite that hand that feeds
or the one that's made up
of words from boring people?
words and words and banter and poems and verses
that only matter
to the people who've written them in the first place.
so what do you have to say
while these other chumps either bark or
shout revolutionary concepts or ideas that could
improve life and the way we live and function
and it's all so interesting and useful and it's something genuine
that truly deserves attention and recognition,
you should really pay attention to what they're saying.
-
in the end,
it's all the same to you -
noise
that fills up the space and floods up your head and eardrums
like rapid rivers, like   a n g r y   s t r e a m s   o f   w a t e r,
that only break things but never mend.
and in the end
they're just
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Literature
mirroring gazes (Weightless Part 3)
being
many people in many places at once,
roads and road signs and car lights and cars,
in haunted houses and apartment blocks.
as i whispered
things' and people's names to myself
i longed for stillness and levelheadedness.
as my body would float and pass
through walls and furniture
i wished for the safety
of a true mother's hold
and a father's guiding hand.
-
the hunger,
not the greed of a son who's seen only
the washed out faces of men and women
pretending to be something that they're not.
-
the expression of those
who fill themselves up with lead and white lies
to keep themselves grounded.
so wash me not of my sins,
but of my guilt that seems to be there from birth,
and shackle me down to something
that's not faceless and numb.
'cause if i'm here only while drifting,
then i'm not here at all,
and if i'm floating through walls and people
and computer screens,
then i don't float, i crawl.
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Literature
just give me time
s l o w   d o w n,
you've been racing and aching to put
everything in its right place
and that's nice, and it's fine,
but some things and some people
are not made to be placed or assigned to a space,
there are some that just blow up book stands and walls
or just seep through the drains
'cause some things and some people
don't have their own stillness
and that's only the way that they are.
and i've been dust and steam and serpents all the same,
and you've been wind and flames and ice that never melts,
and isn't it fun to jump through hoops or pass through walls
or turn into rain when you feel clouded?
i guess what i'm trying to say is
breathe in,
there's a special kind of silence that can only be perceived
once you're overwhelmed,
but it's a good kind of silence and that's a good kind of tired,
when even the dark circles under your eyes feel like smiling,
like calluses filled with pride.
so, what it just feels like it has to be said is:
breathe in (and out, eventually),
time will f
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Literature
from hurricanes
all the things that i've done and the people i've been,
all the things that i'll do and the people i'll be,
i guess in their grand scheme
it's the small things that matter
and the one that's the most important right now
is that i'm holding your hand.
anyway,
we are to waste ourselves in either time or space,
in either our shared time or in the ground,
yet while we walk
will our feet and ankles and knees get sore?
will we heal our old wounds while we
wonder through barb wired hallways and forest paths?
i guess that's how things are,
why stay numb when you can take a punch,
why turn to stone when you can radiate and glow,
if my eyes are just foolish tools of perception
and my skin can only feel and distinguish so much
so be it, i'd rather feel yours for a change
until we burn out and drift apart.
and i can pull the threads,
stare into mirrors or just never move again,
walk backwards or say how
i wish there were no space and time
to corrupt the feeling of you belonging to me.
but that's n
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Literature
Bucharest nights
and i lived in Prague and Berlin and Rome for a while,
yet nothing compared to my Bucharest nights,
while we stood and we stared at the cars passing by
we were bathing in street lamp light and I
vanished in chalk
and you
grew branches and twigs.
in the
yellow of lights,
the pale green of leaves,
the black fur of cats,
and black of the shadows you'll find me.
yet nowadays
you hurry so much
with your height and big steps,
and you worry so much
just like mom used to do while we
wasted our hours and nights in the gardens,
oh, how fast we've grown up
you and I.
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Literature
Charmless Snakecharmer (Weightless Part 2)
apparently, the saner you turn,
the unhappier you become,
‘cause in that head of yours
there must be a moment
when you just say ‘yes’ without being asked.
‘cause, hell, if you keep going up
you'll either fade away or come back crashing down
and i don't feel like withering in stratosphere or soil,
perhaps that's what giving meaning to everything does to you:
kicks you in the stomach or drags you down
on a unidirectional axis.
words that make people feel things
must probably be the most tasteful.
well, i've had my appetizer, meal, salad,
dessert, refreshment
and my mouth still senses sour,
i've eaten up words and whole books and whole people
and i still feel hungry.
‘CAUSE WHAT DO YOU DO WHEN
EVERYTHING YOU ARE JUST SEEMS
TRANSLATED?
what do you do when everything you eat makes your
tongue and inside of your mouth sting and burn,
what do you make of it when everything you do just
dissolves,
while your hands powerlessly witness
and you drown in a seamless riv
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hell is real (i kissed him)
he tasted like sins and regret and wasted septembers and burnt-up gin
and his eyes looked at me like nightmares, i promise
this was never a migraine for the insane nor was this me at midnight,
all curled up against the mirror sobbing a spiraling hymn.
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hands touched, fingers interlocked; i’ve seen the way he looks at me
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and i am my own skeleton, told you all those tales
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AliasEclectic
Daniel
Artist | Hobbyist | Literature
Romania
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:iconaliaseclectic:
AliasEclectic Featured By Owner Jun 30, 2016  Hobbyist Writer
mersi =D
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:iconxxextremxx:
xXextremXx Featured By Owner Jun 18, 2016  Hobbyist Digital Artist
Scrii foarte super!
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:iconmcelementstone:
MCElementStone Featured By Owner Sep 4, 2015  Hobbyist Digital Artist
Nice stuff ^^
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:iconpoetryod:
PoetryOD Featured By Owner Jul 7, 2015
:tighthug: Thanks so much for the fave :}
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:iconmelalina:
Melalina Featured By Owner Apr 18, 2015  Professional General Artist
  HAPPY BIRTHDAY   Birthday cake  icon 
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