The story

You are a wonderous piece

Of my imagination;

I have created you

Out of a single thought,

An image stuck in my head.

Breathing between seconds,

Counting time between the heartbeats

I pray for you not to end.

An empty room:

I filled it with you.

Every letter of you

Creates a story,

A story of you.

And maybe me too.

Sentence by sentence,

It grows and fills the room.

Once the door opens,

The story will be over.

Will you be the one

To open the door

When there is no more space

For me in it?

I have built a throne

For my imagination

And let it rule the broken kingdom

Of my dreams,

But the crown

Will always be yours.

It is crafted from shadows in

The deepest corners of my mind,

But it still shines brighter than

Your eyes.

I have lost the game.

Hide-and-seek is over,

And I cannot run away

To hide again.

My inner voice is telling me

To stop.

Should I trust it?

I can feel it staring at me,

Demanding to open the door or look away.

The door…

Is the story over?

I cannot tell.

Pinch me, I think I am dreaming,

Because you do not exist.

You are just a wondrous piece

Of my imagination.

Little things

Sometimes you look outside the window and see it.

Everything around is as ugly as it can ever get: that mixture of construction sites and shiny polished ‘wannabe skysrapers’. All of that makes me want to turn my guts inside out; and yet there’s something about it. Something fascinating, something that makes me like looking at city lights at night from the window.

Sometimes I find it interesting to watch the fight of ash dark thunder sky and mottled building roofs; fierce clouds  act like they want to devour rooftops, rain drains from them like saliva of a hungry animal, and the mighty roar echoes in the most remote corners of this overfilled land.

My brain is constantly struggling between sending everything to hell and falling down from the 14th floor facing the roadway, and peacefully contemplating the flickering lights of Baiterek. What’s making the struggle keep on? Why haven’t I already made a choice in favor of the roadway? Who the ff*** knows.

Those little things… the little things that make me want to forget that I hate it all; ones that make me want to forget about the self-destruct process that was initialized long ago, and even if I still remember about it, they make me want to push the ‘pause’ button.

I’ve started noticing small details that enchant me; they give me thoughts that I later turn into poems, or that make me frozen for half of the day. They leave a strange aftertaste, and I still can’t understand what it is. Something elusive, something addictive, something that keeps me puzzled. Hell, I’m always puzzled. Always.

Reality hit

Cut out the orbits of your feelings,

You won’t need them anymore.

The visions you’ve had were nothing

But childish imagination;

This kind of naivety isn’t accepted

In our society.

Your skin is too effeminate

For the reality hits.

Everybody’s hurt,

Hiding from the rain

With artificial grins.

How does it feel now?

Do you think you’ve been through much?

Calm down the excitement.

The worst is about to come.