joi, 26 noiembrie 2015

Life doesn't hurt after a while

" Some can die without making noise" - Oliviu Caznic " la sfarsit a mai ramas cosmarul"

(november 2012)

It's been 4 months since she took my body and threw it deep into the ground between four planks lined with white lace.

I didn't have time to realize what has happening, I just felt a pinch, then a pain led me to study my fall, step by step: some angry eyes fixated at me, a shaking hand holding a weapon, some torn boots, a high curb, snow in front of me changing slowly it's color, warmed by my fresh blood.

The weapon fell and behind me scared steps started to run away from my body.
I didnt get the chance to close my eyes, but now darkness has them. Frozen, I thought the time stopped with me. But it is just me trapped and still, the world is there vibrating, sinning and believing that death is something so far away that they have time to leave their dreams for later.

Concerned by my obscene thoughts, my soul flew over my head and what I once was disappeared without making a sound, without me kissing my happiness.

Too young, gifted with so many regrets, I died without truly ever saying "I love you". Too loose, too honest, I died without knowing what would've followed if I continued.

I never thought I would find my end so quickly, crying like a foul in a vast cemetery of long forgotten dreams and hopes, without a drop of light inside to guide my soul. 

My blood poured from that hole my heart just got, drying around me, leaving my body to freeze somewhere between floating and falling.

Freed from my destructive desires, freed from the present and the future, I became a slave to the past. I'm reaching for the sky, but it ignores me. The sunlight is dripping off my body, forming puddles. All I see are memories on which I cling like a degenerateand there is no one able to save me when I use feeling like hate, sadness, anger to calm myself. I am drowing freely, walking on the streets and seeking revenge...I am just consuming myself with stupid words, strange gestures and short lip movements.

Between the clouds, the streets and bedsheets, I am animating my soul to think I'm still alive, althrough the weapon that just killed me was composed of words and the soul who threw it right in my heart was someone who loved me once. 

There is no red snow, because somehow my body is externally intact. Inside everything is falling apart.

It was a direct hit and I screamed like a demon, guided by the voices that own my mind...I took the weapon with which she separeted the meat in it's way to my heart and I stuck it into her frontal lobe for her to remember that she is mine. Her knees slammed to the floor, then her whole body followed. She was mine, she corrected me, it was not long ago her love for me became something unbearable  like a rash.

She left closing the door behind her, eager perhaps to kill another hopeless man. She will drag him into her darkness and there she will make him forget who he is, what she is and all the crimes they commited until then. They will bathe in blood, generating illusions, dreams and maybe feelings.

While she is searching for other shadows on Earth, the secrets that bind us are popping up on my tongue. Maybe I am saying things that I shouldn't talk about because I am waiting for her to come back and pounce on me with unorthodox intentions, just for the sake of our autumnal rains. I am waiting for her to catch my hair and spin my head between her legs. For her to break my lip and taste the blood that's coming out.

It's strange how a weirdo like me can stop my words, leaving me muted and dumb.

I gladly died everytime trapped in someone's arms without understanding that once I will give my heart I would change forever. I lost pieces of me and turned into something horrible that no longer believes in new beginnings. Stripped of dreams, I am dead, life doesn't hurt after a while, feeling stronger receiving the reality straight in the chest even if it's only half true what I am getting. 

If there is a place for me on this Earth I wish I could find it between the warm arms of a lost past love... I am dreaming that someone will come and cut my breath, the same way I once killed someone...

I pour ink over this reality for me to know how to get over the fact that I died so many times. I get better just to die again another day. Slowly moving air under pressure, my territory is limited: me and this pen. My past becomes more interesting with each passing day while I find new words to describe it.

We die every time we fall in love. By loving we kill.

Anxious I close my eyes, waiting to be a whole next to a person as crushed by fate as me, one who will overlook the mistakes of my stuggeling body, one that will stop my lie polluted mouth with a pair of red lips colored by boiling blood.

Does anyone else have the patience to listen when all of us are affraid that we are not going to hear anything about ourselves? We are too preoccupied with our obscene thoughts, we do not need any other events to disturb the images that are real only for us.

Is there someone who is destroying themselves as I do so many times? I want my inside to be quiet, all my wounds to cloe like a petal and their scars to disappear under a thick fog. Every inch of skin to shake off all the touches of fingers, every thought about love to dry in itself as tears are falling and die nevertheless...

For all the pieces I remain without, for all the tears I lost, I want to die once more, ONE LAST TIME.


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