Body.

I always feel
I always go numb
on how these men
see my parts apart

the bulging breasts
the luscious thighs
the arse high

and then I bathe
unimportantly
alone
my body is not conscious
no eyes that roam

top to bottom
bottom to top
bosom to hips
vagina to lips
men know what they want
the body feels their hunger on

parts of it don’t feel home
eyes roam
dissect me part by part
I breathe in
breathe out
breathe in
breathe out
life bursts
and all goes down

bubbles of my body
and graves of men
death asks me to tell them apart
who to choose
who to spare
as if skeletons care.

FLOWERS & RINGS & LOVE

I know people
and they tell
they know me
this time it will be different
my grave will not be lonely
they will bring me
flowers and love
decide if I am rotten enough
kiss me or bid me luck.

I will know soon if
a new message I will have to inscribe
one more grave then
to kill and hide
there is blood on my lips
and dirt on the hands
again the silent trance
and hunger pangs
punch me
to vomit it all out
I have again eaten
my insides out.

Each time I dig a new grave
and fill new crowd
bodies on bodies
crying out loud
warned to lie still
sometimes they wriggle
trying to climb uphill
they hold my spine tight
and try to break me
to be their light
and I gasp for air
to loose this sight
their versions I keep
but I let them slide
every new man
pulls me down
questions ways of my heart
on me he frowns.

And You
I have seen you before
when gardens were lush green
you were like a purpose
that has dreams
while I try to see you differently
you come using the same means
you don’t know how you bring
the same scenes
of us
drinking the blood
being both hungry
and half filled
the continuously rekindling love
in unkindled will
I cannot help but still hear
in this closeness
the echo of dead screams
going in same vicious circles
of flowers and rings.

I Love Me

I have stopped breaking from the outside
it just causes cracks
shifts happen in the core
and plateaus change
the geography
without anyone knowing
people live happily ever after
and say
that it was meant to be.

My words fumble
when I swallow you in bits
so I gulp you down
give tests, repeat
You ask for 3 words
I say “I am here”
few words have rigid belief
you want complex but
I am forever your simple relief.

I want to bring you the stars
such is my love
but no one wants what they can’t taste
I am bland in my face
and they choose irony
the wisdom of haste
we are but all
the product of our mediocre stakes.

For themselves
they ask myself to define me
how else would they say
that more than you
I love me.

Deep cuts

How deep do you cut without bleeding
and I will call it art
your crimson feathers and stark lurking breath match
the width of blade
which you promised last time you
wont use

what is it you inflict on me for the pain to pass
a whiplash
or the same sweet dread
after red gives you away
and crimson scars turn you beautiful again

My blade
I protect you

and when you convince me of your cowardice
I know you pretend
to be brave
for these nutshells of mines
that you spread across
are just my pilgrims to your sacred heart
so I will reach your shrine to wake you up
and for that moment
that will be the first
and last thing I do for you
and turn to dust
that is all I can take
to make you brave
I can become a scar
the best one for your heart
and you can wear me
pretend like its art.

Walking with Volcanoes

You sit there
humbled
carved
silent
unassociated
like it doesn’t matter
how the ash settled
like you never were burned
under the blossom
there was never a desert
silence speaks
of the things never said
when mountains get tired
people still climb
where do you hide
to stay put
in plain sight
you sit
you belong
where do you walk
how do you go
with that weight
so light
gravitational to the air
the last time you exploded
you kept it all inside
is that how volcanoes die?
and settle to grounds
or they just walk with it
never again to be found

of all the things mountains loose
innocence bothers me the most
people dying to see people
all we find are ghosts.

Black Box

I was looking at you through the black box

thought that was all everyone ever wanted

                     to not be related to their own hands

infinity, then an undone task 

of 1000 possible futures 

relates me to the nonexistent you

and I look at you through the black box 

and my shining eyes 

reflect all white

like when lies

work around for long

feel like they belong

                      and in the potholes cultures cursed 

the saint 

who did not listen

and didn’t let a scum die

there were still a few things 

left 

for both to try. 

Dear Friend

My friend,
let me find you again,
in the broken links of your wired past.
we all were sinking in that age of glory,
and it’s ok if all your pieces didn’t last.
it is the 30’s now,
you know what you shouldn’t do,
let me just take back the fears from you,
don’t be whole – preserve yourself,
but let the sceptiscm of those first mistakes pass,
keep the lessons,
but don’t let the punishments last,
let me find you again in the familiarities of our masks,
let me look at you,
via your heart,
past through the troubles of this world,
where you learned to keep faces as an art.