Mirages and ink bottles.

I am a pen. This might sound like a metaphorical exaggeration, or an ornamented fact, but it is what I am. Every time I hear the same song that you loved on the radio, it’s like a cut on the side of my arm, and the ink just flows out. Every nick and cut that I get onto my calloused skin, just turns into a bruise that I wear as battle scars and gripping stories. Every time I look at the sunlight through the tinted windows of my car, I cannot help but associate the golden hue to the hazel of your eyes. Every time I look at the vast emptiness that expands beyond the final steps of a cliff, I cannot help but imagine the jagged rocks hidden in snow to be my best friends crooked front teeth, or the jump to the bottom to hide stories of wonderland. You never know what’s hiding just beyond the point your eyes cannot see.

I don’t consider myself a writer, or the pen as a fancy extension of my arm. I don’t believe in using words to heal my pain, or writing as an escape from this cruel world. I don’t make routines and set time periods for the words to find a way out, and I don’t plan on keeping them inside of me where the dark waves can hit the sun drenched sand and wipe them away. I am not a lonely or broken man wandering on hot sidewalks among a cluster of thoughts and people, wondering why you left me, or why no one talks to me the way you did.

When I see the wailing child staring at the ice cream vendor as if that’s all he ever wanted, I cannot help but smile and think about the wishes I’ve had as a child and even as an adult. And when all of this stays in my mind, my brain becomes a volcanic land with words as molten ink, erupting onto snow sheets, paper lines, and electric screens. I don’t wait for the right moment or for the memorable one. I just find things beautiful, and I let you know. When an injured boy cries on the television and countries blow up, or a young girl is found dead on the streets, or you’re just the happiest you could ever be, you’ll bleed blue too. We all will. There’s nothing hiding beyond the point your eyes cannot see, except mirages and an ink bottle.


Previous post : This damn world.
Related post : Tsunami

Friends, if you like reading my work, do share it with your friends (on whatever social media you deem appropriate). It would be amazing to have more people reading my compositions. Please help my infinity grow bigger ∞

This damn world.

This world,
It is filled with
Desperate tongues and restless emotions,
Pretty dandelions and harsh sunlight.
It is made of
Prying eyes and numbing sentiments,
Love roses and dirty soil.
It dances to the beats of
Missiles and declarations of war,
Screams of innocents and catchy tunes.
It gets excited when
A trend takes over,
A new joke is made,
They read deep quotes they don’t understand,
Or just listen to what Trump said.
In this world, where will the humans live?

This world,
It is filled with
Praising mouths and soft hearts,
Different languages yet a steady connection.
It is made of
Heart beats and homes,
Beautiful mountains and enormous waves.
It dances to the beats of
Cheerful giggles and loud exclamations,
Sweet voices and melodious music.
It gets excited when
Passports are painted,
Tickets are bought,
They try new food,
Or over five tequila shots.
In this world, where will the demons hide?


Previous post : Kisses and cravings.
Related post : Earth.

Friends, if you like reading my work, do share it with your friends (on whatever social media you deem appropriate). It would be amazing to have more people reading my compositions. Please help my infinity grow bigger ∞

Hearts

“O heart, be patient” – Qur’an

My heart has been jumping around,
Quite a lot since,
I became old enough to feel it.
It beats faster,
with every sheep that I count,
one sheep,
two sheep,
and three.
Maybe it just loves to dream,
And since I’ve grown old enough,
And since the things I’ve seen,
It has become restless,
For it wants butterflies,
and flowers,
fire and gushing winds,
Empty cliffs and ferocious waves.
It wants roses,
and tequila shots,
and that one girl I just can’t walk up to.
It wants to travel to places,
that even cameras haven’t seen
places where there’s no chaos,
And everything is at peace.
It doesn’t know what’s enough,
for it still isn’t old enough,
but it’s old enough to want everything anyway.
It wants giggles,
and tears that don’t sting,
and lies for surprise parties,
instead of a casual fling.
It wants unrequited love,
adventures and crazy shit.
It wants to eat french,
and kiss Italian,
Hold tiny paws of dogs,
and look into the small eyes of cats.
It wants to live,
and not just exist.
What it does not want is to be
Naive in this world.
It wants everything good,
and everything bad.
But most of all,
it wants to be able to smile,
and let it reach the eyes.
That is all.


Previous post : A new shade.
Related post : What were we like?

Friends, if you like reading my work, do share it with your friends (on whatever social media you deem appropriate). It would be amazing to have more people reading my compositions. Please help my infinity grow bigger ∞

 

My darkness.

He did not remind me of big pretty things like the moon. He did not remind me of the sacrifices people have made for love. He did not  remind me of the stars lighting of the night sky, or the warmth of the campfire or the wolf howling for the moon. He wasn’t the night in shining armour saving me from this terrible terrible world. He wasn’t my prince charming, he did not kiss me back to life.

I have done all of that for myself. I did not need someone to fill those cracks in my heart, to make blood flood my cheeks, to clean those thoughts in my head. I did not need someone who made me feel incomplete to make me feel complete. Cause I know all that is bullshit. I am complete. I needed someone to stay. That is it. And sometimes, Lucifer does listen to you.

He was everything. His kiss was caffeine for me, waking up every cell of my body. His eyes nicotine for me, irresistible. His words had the effect of champagne, soft and sweet on happy occasions. On days when words failed him, his silence was Scotch, burning my throat. His laugh was weed that I always got high on. He was the drug I had at five in the morning, and the drinks I had at seven in the evening.

He reminded me of sunburns and dirty plates and empty boxes. He reminded me of sofas that have been jumped on too hard, and clubs where we made out. He reminded me of cassettes of old music, and books about war. He reminded me of jackets on a cold night, and kisses on a rainy day. He reminded me of movies we watched as we cuddled in a blanket too small for both of us.

He reminded me of sweat, shoulders and crumbs. He reminded me of conversations on things that don’t even exist. He reminded me of tan lines, dirty pillowcases and T-shirts. He reminded me of closed doors and lost keys and eyes too tired to stay open on the terrace. Not some wave moving back and forth hitting the shore or some light millions of miles away.

Yes, he was the conversation I had on the terrace as I put out my cigarette. He was the chest on which I lay my head, while cigarette buts and bra’s and shirts were thrown all around. He wasn’t some light, he was my darkness.


Previous post : What were we like?
Related post : Then how come it isn’t?

Friends, if you like reading my work, do share it with your friends (on whatever social media you deem appropriate). It would be amazing to have more people reading my compositions. Please help my infinity grow bigger ∞