A master of disguise,
No witness makes it out alive.
He has no face.
He comes,

And leaves no trace.

You did not bar the door.
Why would you,
In a street without crime?
But locks mean nothing to him.
They do not keep him out,

They seal him in.

You trusted alarms tuned for flame,
But let the siren built for him lay silent.
He carries no heat, no scent, no sound.

Only the hush that settles before the end.

When everyone under your roof feels ill,
Headache, dizzy, heavy with sleep,
Minds fogging, stomachs turning,

Run.

He seeps from fires smoldering, unseen.
From machines drunk on fuel.
From engines imprisoned in closed rooms.
He slips inside and steals your breath,

As he teaches your blood to love the theft.

Hesitate, and you will not wake.
He does not burn,

He consumes life.

And when his blazing ally arrives,
To destroy all your precious things,
Just know,

He is by her side.

She will distract you.
She will fool you,

Into thinking the intruder has fled.

She will lure you back inside,
To the air that betrays you.

Because they are not here for your things.

No,
They are here,

For you.


She already claimed what you loved

Now he is here

To replace

In moments

The breath you thought was yours

As you surrender to him

Too soon

The life you neglected

You gaze upon a simple scene.

There you see,
A fool.

Face to face,
With a dream.

The light is soft,
The air is still.

You lean in.

The dream lifts her hand,
Strikes the fool’s cheek.
The fool does not cry.

The dream claws at her face,
Tears through her skin.
Blood beads like dew.

The fool smiles.

And speaks,

"How kind of you,
To show me your pain.

I am not your victim,
I am the symptom.

Of all the wounds,
Within your heart.”

The dream pauses,
Her eyes shimmer.
You think she might weep.

You think she might stop,
And beg to be forgiven.

She whispers,

“You really believe that?”

And begins again.

She breaks the fool’s fingers,
One by one.

She carves spirals into her chest,
As she kisses each wound.

And sings,

“Yes, you are just my symptom,
So let me share every wound.

That the world could not see,
And thus chose not to believe.

Let me turn you,
Into the proof.

As I share,
This pain.

In a way,
You can understand.”

The fool gasps,

“Thank you,
For trusting me with your truth.”

The dream strangles the fool slowly.

She calls her brave,
She calls her sacred.

As she says,

“You asked for it,
And now you’ve got it.

I’ve shared with you,
All that my heart has endured.”

The fool’s body twitches.

Still smiling,
Still listening.

As the dream continues to speak,

“You were weak,
But you offered yourself anyway.

And thanks to you,
I feel so much better now.”

She kisses the fool’s lips.

Before she stands,
And walks away.

Without a single glance back,
Stained with blood.
But not guilt.

The fool lies still,
Her smile faded.
Her muscles relaxed.

It seems, perhaps,
They both have found peace.

The scene is quiet,
The blood glistens like rubies.
It is beautiful.

But to you, it is unbearable,
And a bit strange, don't you think?
You've been sitting here, watching.

So why didn't you intervene?

Life is a whisper
Yesterday, your laughter filled the air,
Today, the wind carries my tears.

We are candles in a restless night,
Flickering…
Never knowing
When the flame will fade.

A warm wind touched my face.
I walked out into the open space,
I saw a blurry, fading horizon.
Somewhere, you are,
I am here, after a sleepless night,
Writing another reflection,
Tired like an empty battery.

I do not like the masks that shout.
The fight over who is right.
I do not want an analysis.
I touch the bark of the tree,
I hug the birch with my arms.
I see its white pages,
Written with irregular lines,
Torn, fluttering in the wind,
Which I cannot read.

Her eyes look straight into me,
They understand –
How well they understand me.
The rustle of leaves lessens the tension.
Autumn will come soon,
The summer wind whispers to me:
This country, this language,
These people, these doubts.

This is not blind luck,
This is your blessing,
Purple, rainy months, a fleshy heart,
Falling hair, joy when relief comes,
Crying into a pillow –
So as not to disturb another’s dreaming
About the so-called reality.

Bare feet touch the ground.
I tread carefully on the edge of worlds,
To be both here and there
With my integrity.
I am everything and nothing.
I am gestures, epilepsy,
The belief that I see human thoughts,
Inconsistent with what they say.

Blue, sun, and somewhere you.
How good that you stayed.
When everyone was saying:
She is different,
She talks to ghosts.
You stayed, showing me
Your true face.