Dear Golden Gate Bridge,

    Can you give her back to me?
Split the water in two and I will be Moises
Angry and scared,
desperate and delusional
like Dolly was about Jolene

She fell in love with your edges and your deceiving depths
And you never saw right through her and thought that maybe she just wanted you to be the sloppy second for once. Rebound to a better life.

                                         Splash!

You are a ruthless lover but I'm starting to understand the fascination with that edge of yours.

                                          Breathe in. Breathe out.

Jolene, I need to be baptized in your love
And I will assure you that I can swim and you will pretend to care.

Moises will fly to a sure fall. Let him drown. He would have never made it to Noa's arc anyways.

Let me drown.

I can see how badly you are hurting
And it pains me too

You are the man of the night
And I am a woman of the moon

And there is nothing that could break me easier
Than seeing you sad
For you are the love of my life
And your pain is driving me insane.

In my dream that I love and hate to recall-
The sky is made of amethyst,
and you’re dancing in a metal kitchen,
laughing, telling me
that God is a handsome blonde guy.

Your last miracle
was making spring come sooner.
And I love you for that.

Memory of the first time I saw your smile,
Now ocasionally sneaks out of my eyes
and rolls down my cheek

I used to trip over our memories,
breaking a bone or three,
but now I just crack open windows,
let the air in,
Finally accepting to live with divorce and sunset.

Your voice notes expired
long before I was ready.
The realization settles first
beneath my lungs,
then crawls up my throat
before sinking into my coffee.

I miss you,
but I won’t ask you to come back anymore.
I finally understand.
Goodbye, my friend.
Be free.

do you still dress up your sadness
or have you seated it in the corner table
to eat with the children?
funny thing about tables and tears is
they get absorbed into the wood
because no one is going to notice the spill
in time to wipe you up.
it’ll just be an unsightly mark
where the wood swells with your sadness.

long gone are the insects
you forgave my dear
don't rent your heart out
to too many ghosts.

I don't have any amazing stories about my life and about who I am
I don't even know who I am

And I wish I could lose everything and everyone so I could have a valid reason to end my life

I have the best parents
A loving sister
Dear friends
And they don't deserve the pain that would demand to be felt if I killed myself

I don't deserve what I have
I keep letting everything escape my fingers because I never held on tight enough
And pain is festing on my soul like a hungry animal thirsty for blood
Because lately, I am sure there is something wrong with me

My biggest punishment is being aware of the consequences people around me would endure, the aftermath of suicide

I pay my sins with having to live and disappoint over and over again

I am so so sorry. And I know you are tired of my sorrys. But you are never letting go. Because you love me. And I do not deserve that and it's only making things harder

Please hate me. Please.

My bipolar
Plays dress up
And I am the model

My bipolar loves me
Until I feel stress and anxiety
Crawling under my skin
And my heart hurts
I feel it getting old and tired

Mania leaves me empty in a black hole that turns out to be my bed
 I sink
And there is nothing I can do
But wait for mania to come back

They say that out of all of zodiac
Gemini's are most likely to be depressed and anxious
I was born on 28th of May

Shivers creep on me in the post-******* ecstasy
as I light a cigarette and blue smoke crawls up my skin
Almost can feel you touching me
Giving love to my body

Inhaling the smoke brings back flashbacks of you
Suddenly we are in your room, drunk and young
I ask you to kiss me and you make me a slave
I taste you on my fingers and you taste like sin and whiskey
You pin me to the wall and we share what I thought was air
Rotten lungs and pretty eyes
My cigarettes now burn faster and you are lost in a fog
And although you destroyed me day by day
I never felt more alive
so I find myself reaching for your fire to light just one more cigarette.

Mama, can a cat’s milk get spoiled?
I think it can.
Your milk was spoiled.
It made all of my thoughts go bad.
I no longer had balance.
I no longer had confidence.
Love tasted disgusting.
So I purged. I always smell so rotten.
So tell me, momma, how can someone raised on spoiled milk ever be beautiful?
And every bite I take tastes like S.P.O.I.L.E.D. M.I.L.K.
So sick. So comforting.

Lately, I don't know how to make things sound like poetry
And I know I promised I'd stop writing about you
But I can't.

And it's stupid how I wait for 4 am driveway lights
So I can turn over and sleep because I know you are home

But insomnia is now my bestest friend
And I ******* miss you.
I use my voice for the first time in months
Ready to learn how to love you
But your driveway lights are now her's happiness.
I hope her's 'I love you's don't start to sound much more like my 'I'm sorry's.
Funny how
we both settled for half the love.

I don't know how is it possible that I keep seeing you in places and in people you can not be.
Today I picked a scenary similar to when we first got faded together.
I tried to push you out of my mind by having Rihanna (one of my  alter egos when I get high) tell me: 'Nahh girl, you will have a ******' happy trip and sorry but this ***** is killing your vibe!'
And Riri rarely speaks.
She liked you. She didn't like anyone.
So I tried to stop picking on the fresh wound in my soul
But you are still there painfully enough.
The first wave hit me and I was out.


I looked at that girl, much different looking than you, start to change.
Suddenly she had your fingers then she put on your face
then your short Harry Potterish hair
and lastly your beautiful eyes.
I will try to not forget them. I promise.
I probably didn't mean to you not even as close like you did to me so why are you showing yourself in MY mind?
Did I matter after all?
Or am I delusional and my sick brain is a Joker's playground?

I feel like I really did love you.
Like for real real.
Because you've inhabited the inside of my ribcage ever since I laid my eyes on you.
Maybe that wasn't some ordinary love because you were never ordinary.
You were a miracle.

In my dreams, you told me how your god now is the devil himself and it struck me how happy you seemed.
And all I ever wanted is for you to be truly happy forever...
So I stopped praying for your mercy.
I've seen you happy for the first time and it doesn't seem like you need it.

3 months since you've been gone
And your demons are now my roommates.

Once upon a time, there were five children who weren’t really children.
They were neglected feelings wearing borrowed skin and convictions of no needs.

The first was a boy who felt nothing at all.
He walked through life like a ghost no one remembered dying.
They called him cold, but he was just tired
Of dripping in places no one would whipe.
Inside, he wanted someone to knock on the door he bolted shut.
But no one ever stayed long enough to try.


The second was a dog who was always smiling.
People passed by and said, “What a happy little thing.”
But they put a leash around its neck and called it loyalty.
It wagged its tail even when it hurt,
because someone once told it love is earned through obedience.
So he waited.
And waited.
And waited.
No one returns.


The third was a boy who swallowed his nightmares.
He thought if he ate them all,
they’d go away.
But they grew inside him like weeds—
and some nights, he screamed in his sleep,
his belly full of bells no one could hear.

The fourth was a hand—
just a hand.
It wanted everything.
It grabbed and gripped and begged to be filled.
But everything it touched turned into something else:
a kiss became a bruise,
a hug became a choke.
The hand never asked, only took.
And still, it was always hungry.


The fifth wore a mask.
A lovely one.
Shiny eyes, soft lips, laughter stitched just right.
She wore it so long,
she forgot who lived underneath.
When people loved her,
she wondered who they were loving.
So she smiled harder.
And disappeared a little more each day.

One by one,
they wandered into the Forest of Almost.

They didn’t mean to meet each other.
They were just looking for silence
that didn’t hurt.

They didn’t speak at first.
They only sat—close, but not touching.
Each one pretending not to notice
how the others looked like pieces of them.

The boy who felt nothing
was the only one who saw the dog’s leash.
The girl with the mask
was the only one who saw the nightmares blooming under the boy’s skin.
The greedy hand trembled when the smiling dog licked it gently,
as if even hunger deserved kindness.

And slowly,
they did what no one else had done for them:

They stayed.

Not to fix.
Not to save.
Just to be.

And maybe that was the magic.
Because in the Forest of Almost,
they didn’t become whole—
but they did become real.

And sometimes,
real is the bravest thing you can be.

I've been hiding baby
Oh for so long
Been afraid I'd turn into the morning fog
I'm still shaking when I'm standing right next to you
You call my name and time just stops

You make sure to hold my hand in a dark room
I'm holding back from you
Because once you get me there is no turning back
In this game of two
heartbreaker and the fool.

[shadow:]
dear God,
lately,
i’ve forgotten how to be a person.
my hands feel too heavy.
my skin, too loud.
i keep failing at something
no one ever taught me.

my thoughts unravel like cheap thread,
and i keep trying to knot them quietly—
so no one sees the mess.

some days,
i’m just too tired of carrying
a soul that doesn’t sit right inside me.
like it was made for someone else.

– V


---



[light:]
"you keep track of all my sorrows.
you have collected all my tears in your bottle."
— psalm 56:8

"the Lord is near to the brokenhearted
and saves the crushed in spirit."
— psalm 34:18

"so do not fear, for I am with you;
do not be dismayed, for I am your God.
I will strengthen you and help you;
I will uphold you with my righteous right hand."
— isaiah 41:10


---



[shadow:]
i feel like a ghost,
pretending to deserve
food,
touch,
rest.

i move through the world like background noise.
i hurt when i’m supposed to hope.
and i run when i should reach.

i shrink from love,
because part of me still believes
i have to earn being seen.

– V


---



[light:]
"you are precious and honored in my sight,
and because I love you,
I will give people in exchange for you,
nations in exchange for your life."
— isaiah 43:4

"come to me, all who are weary and burdened,
and I will give you rest."
— matthew 11:28

"even to your old age and gray hairs I am he;
I am he who will sustain you.
I have made you and I will carry you;
I will sustain you and I will rescue you."
— isaiah 46:4


---



[shadow:]
i can’t tell anymore
if the numbness is mercy,
or judgment—
or maybe just You
not knowing what to do with me.

– V


---



[light:]
"before I formed you in the womb, I knew you.
before you were born, I set you apart."
— jeremiah 1:5


---



[shadow:]
i don’t want to perform
my way into being lovable.
i don’t want to be worshiped.
i want to be held.
softly. quietly. without audition.

‘i don’t feel like a person today.’
but i still talked to You
for an hour
on the highway.
and even when i ran out of words—
You stayed.

– V


---



[light:]
"for I am convinced that neither death nor life,
neither angels nor demons,
neither the present nor the future, nor any powers,
neither height nor depth,
nor anything else in all creation,
will be able to separate us
from the love of God
that is in Christ Jesus our Lord."
— romans 8:38–39

"my grace is sufficient for you,
for my power is made perfect in weakness."
— 2 corinthians 12:9

[light whisper:]
"When you pass through the waters, I will be with you;
and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you.
When you walk through the fire, you will not be burned;
the flames will not set you ablaze."
— isaiah 43:2

they say
"i don’t get it."
as if the words I write are puzzles
and not seances
with the bones of my childhood.

they want metaphors that purr,
not ones that bleed.
Many don't like
teeth in the fruit.

my poems are not
for mouths that chew politely.
they are for those
who’ve sat inside silence
and still carry
the shape of the scream.

Writing is the equvalent of
plucking out the wires
stitched into my throat
and spelling out
a map
for anyone who’s ever felt
too much
to speak.

so no,
you don’t have to get it.

this was never for the ones
who only read
with their eyes.

My identity is
both water
and oil


                    It does not stick


Sometimes if i pour it in a bottle and shake really well,
for a few moments
I pretend that the SMALLER i get
oli bubbles to be,
the more blended it looks

I shake and I shake
But separation always comes back

I see youth in a haze
Sunny afternoons from Mars
Been chasing stars

World still turns
Joints burn
I go back to sunny afternoons
Still in a haze
Now I chase the Moon

Days have melted into nights
Nights into nothingness
Nothingness into unlimited infinities
Infinities shift to possibilities
Possibilities give birth to chances I never seem to take
Chances transform to regrets
Regrets end up with nosebleeds.
What I'm trying to say is that
I wonder a lot
And it appears that it has often led me off of the road
I found beauty but I also found a place where Color goes to die.

Today it became crystal clear why no one has ever wanted me
I drag so much bagage
and am constantly followed
by demons I gave birth to

In fact some would say
It's a good common sense
to stay as far away from me as possible
Yes, maybe my fingers have the potential to do magic in the light or in the dark, doesn't matter if you are the right one
But is that all you are looking for?
Because, for once I'd rather be the full course than the cold leftover

Once,
they handed her a map—
blank,
except for the words:
“You are here.”

But here kept shifting.
One day, it was sorrow
shaped like a fox
with silver fur and eyes like unspoken apologies.
The next, it was joy—
a balloon beast that floated just out of reach,
tied to a string knotted around her ribcage.

She wandered.

Through the Forest of Almosts,
past the Swamp of Not-Yets,
into the valley where shame
whispered her name backward
so she wouldn’t recognize herself.

She wore her fears like jewelry.
Polished it.
Let it glint in the dark.

She met Anger
It didn’t scream.
It built towers from her old voices
and dared her to climb
without a rope.

She met Silence, too—
it moved like fog
and tasted like metal.
It offered her tea
and made her weep into her own hands
without asking why.

And still, she walked.

One night,
the moon opened a door in the ground.
She fell into a forest
with no sky,
where trees grew upside-down
and every path looked like a wound.

At the center,
she found a mirror
half-buried in the belly of a tree.

It didn’t show her face.
It showed her story—
stitched from shadows and second chances,
frayed,
but still holding.

And for the first time,
she didn’t want to erase anything.

She folded the blank map
into a boat.
Set it in the river.
And walked home—
not knowing the way,
but knowing she was the compass.

Honestly, I am barely surviving without you
I now get that it never stops hurting
And all I can think of is how you look in the moonlight
How your lips were cold and slow
How my ribcage broke the moment you pulled me closer
You are alive in every corner of my mind
Feels ***** yet powerful
And I kinda love it

I can't really be alone at night
So I search for slow cold lips and knowing hands
Pain in the chest. I connect you with pain. The good kind.
I summon you at night.
Whatever I touch I leave numb

You told me all poetry is about *** or God
Because you know that I have a map of your body well memorized in my mind
And I touch your hands like I'm turning the pages of a Bible
A bookmark I forgot about from the chapter in my life when I believed without reservations
But I love you like a sinner because it seems
you are my last chance of paradise

My time will come, right?
With great hope I write this, tho I don’t know if my heart will stop beating because lately it's been so faint or will it explode by how fast it is pounding now.
I do wrong
I can’t seem to stop.
But I know my time will come and I will be okay.
I used to believe that I would never be okay again
Became all the things I promised I wouldn’t.
Wrapped my bones in cold skin, damp eyes bitter with life.
Nothing really changed but everything did.
My time will come
And maybe some of these days I’ll go home.
I will be okay.
My time has to come.

Drake on the radio
And I am slowly learning how to bring out the worst in you
Playing old records- throwback
Focusing on ugly, my history
You can't make me behave
Always trying to burn me
Wish I could have trust in you
But all I ever knew is how to hold grudges
You acting shady, voices in my head getting loud
Hope you never make it to the top
Suprised to catch you off guard
I am the devil in the form of the *****
wanna be sober but I am the high and you can't say no
If you want love I am not the place to stay
I am merely a station, an idea of transition
Thrill after sad days, like the best vacation
Rules don't apply to me
Because I am not your home.

Last night you told me you don't love me anymore
You said you are now into bad girls in leather jackets
Wearing cigarette smoke like perfume
And I stuttered. But stopped.
I wanted to cry but I didn't.
Considered being what you want but
Instead, I showed you a wicked smile while
Thinking of running away to the big city


This morning your words taste like freedom.
And I stay just where I'm at.
Instead, you move to the moon
And I am stargazing on picnic blankets

Today I visited our spot for the fist time since you’ve been gone

And as I guessed, this year spring came in suspiciously late and I knew that it was because of you. You stopped time for me. Your last miracle.

But it feels ruined in all its beauty without you here. There is no sky under which I can last without you.

You know how I always liked wearing color and I would swear I’d wear yellow to make you smile?

But after they told me you are no more I knew wearing anything but black would never feel right again.

I whipe my tears as the sun hits my face. I avoid your name only to stop myself from sinking.

I divide my being in three: before, with and after you

Now you exist in places I can’t reach with my hands and I ache while I trip over our memories and open windows.


So when tomorrow starts without you and I’ll have rising sun and tears in my eyes and coffee I will honor you.
Love of my life.

Mom, can you breathe me back to life?
Can you love me and feed me with rice milk again?
I miss you.
I can tell you all about how rain feels on my skin.
How when the sun shines on me makes my cold sweat looks like little diamonds.
I think I finally get it. Cigarettes are not a proper dinner. Nor is coffee a proper breakfast.
Diamonds on my skin are not precious.
Just wrap me up and tuck me in your pocket.
I promise I will not get your clothes wet.
Just. Don’t. Let. Me. Slip.

I've dug tunnels on my face

Carved them with the salt trails of tears I wept

I moarned the death of who I used to be and since I numbed the pain people call me Heartless.

Been wearing black more often than I wish to admit
 Even though sometimes I crave rainbow socks ; my nails painted red.

I saw you again last night
I didn't see you for a year
You changed
I thought I'd be a raging mess
But I didn't feel anything
Like you never meant anything
I tried to save you so many times before but
I was never going to be enough
And you looked like you were scared of me suddenly
Like a deer chaught in headlights

I then realized
I was falling in the depths of a pit inside some other dimension
In which we are acting like strangers once again

I must ruin your fantasies now
because there will never be beauty in such pain that makes you want to set yourself on fire

No beauty in having the power of making your parents think you are not safe if you do not pick up your phone or in causing them to have panic attacks every time you lock the door

There is no beauty in having a chance and not taking it because there is something wrong with you and you feel so ungradeful because no matter how messed up you might be, many others have it worse

There is no beauty in wanting to get cancer and die so you wouldn't have to do it yourself because it would hurt others less

There is no beauty in the chaos of staying in bed for weeks in a *****, messy apartment and lying about your life being in order

There is no beauty in sleepless nights
Eaten up by ether pain and guilt or numbness and debating whether you should let yourself live another day because you sure as hell know you are what people call a parasite and you don't deserve to be significant to other people

There is no beauty in being a coward and doing absolutely nothing with your life when there is only one thing you have to do, yet you stay in an overly expensive apartment all by yourself  wishing you could just hit the reset button and maybe be born as someone else or not at all

There is no such thing as beauty of madness and there never will be beauty in being me.

I want to go back to the night you first kissed me
To tell you not to make me fall in love with you
and to tell myself I shouldn't dream of your blonde hair
Or what would happen if I stayed the night only so that, in the morning
  I'd see how I am not the path you want to follow
Because I have miles of skin marked with bumpy roads you simply can't take because you get car sick soon so you take the first exit
.
I keep walking with chains tied to my legs.
So loud. I can't hide.

I am bisexual. I am sure of that.
I've been sure of it for quite some time now.
I came to realize something.
If I end up with a woman I am going to embrace the essence of everything that's broken and ****** up about me and claim it as my own and let it define my identity.
Now don't get me wrong that doesn't mean it's gonna be a sad life or that my female partner will make me miserable.
No!
We will have lots of amazing and breathtaking moments and happy yellow days.
But there will always be some gray in the corner of my vision.
Gray will never leave.
All of my depth will forever be in the back of my mind.
And depth requires some darkness.
But I will be fully me. Real me. A picture frozen in time.

However, if I end up with a man I will probably abandon my depths and my grays.
I will forever be feeling like some part of me is missing but I will be leading a whole new life which will be about learning to love myself and nothing will ever be broken.

Do I even make sense?
What does that say about me?

Honey its been a while but i know you exist between heartbeats — not quite joy not quite grief, just the long inhale before either arrives.
you lived in a house where silence carved the hallways out of not being chosen so i know that you wear sound like an armour,
for when the room goes quiet the ghosts start speaking in full sentances and you are left with no language to bury them.
you answer messages in your head, smile at texts you never send and mourn connections like you've buried them with your own hands — even tho they are still alive
just not with you.
you wage a war between
reach out
and
stay safe.
between
i miss you
and
don't look at me.
you stand still.
mid-sentance
mid-dream
mid-you.




your house is a mess- your head is worse
wondering if this is healing or you are just getting really good at pretending so you bolt the doors
and you don't dare let anyone come in.
your mother used to say that the cruelest is the hour when you must beg the stars to remember your name — you'd then say
that the pain is a fruit, bitten too soon
and yet so sweet, so knowing.
because you know you must remember everything
and overcome it.
for if you don’t overcome it, you will always be the child whose soul never grew, the woman who kept apologizing for needing too little, and loving too much.

Long are overdue the deeds you owe to yourself.

-V

Eat. Purge.
Eat. Purge.
Purge. Purge.

I purged a baby from my abdomen.
Just don’t eat.
Do not eat.
Swallow all those struggles.
Let them eat YOU instead.

God knows you want that **** chocolate.
But you smother the craving and wrap it in your words.
Spit those words. Gunshots.
Bad girls do not deserve chocolate.

fear is a feast,
my teeth stained purple
from eating bruises—
and i am always
carcass picked clean
by second thoughts.

love?
love is a butcher at the market,
smiling sweet
while weighing out a heart
i can't afford.
it's an executioner—
it asks me to place my own head
on the block—
to kneel before joy
as if it will not
tear me limb for limb
when it tires
of my trembling.

i am fearless among ruins,
skinning my knees
on broken chapels,
yet i fear hands
that thread stitches into my ruin
with the patience
of a surgeon,
and breath that curls in my mouth,
making me taste futures
i am too cowardly
to swallow.



i survive loneliness
like a vulture survives drought—
tight-bellied,
sharp-eyed,
full of memory.

but hope—
hope pours syrup
into my lungs
and calls it resurrection.

hope convinces me
that i want love—
but
only if it promises
not to break
what it finds.

The hardest thing in the world
is loving someone who can't love
and who has never known of true love

I loved a girl who had a divergent mirror
And when she looked through that mirror
she saw things far from what they actually were

I was gonna slay dragons
and stop the time for you
But you rejected it
Somehow when I proclaimed my undying love for you
All you could hear is that I was gonna use your vulnerability
I am sorry you did not love yourself enough to let yourself see the truth

Will you love me when all that's left of me are my scars?
Will you love me when dark blinds my eyes?

Will you still love me when I become only a dry shell of a girl I used to be?
Tell me,
Will you love me
When my eyes start to leak a flowing river just when you are about to burst with flames?

Will you love me at night when I simply don't know how to love you back?
Would you love me if I told you that soon I will become your other half you will learn to hate so **** much?
Will you love me?
Because I think
I can't
Even
Love
Myself.

I fell asleep today with a terrible case of wishful thinking
and woke with my ribs aching like they remembered something
they weren’t supposed to.

Love stitched the crack in my spine
with thread made of old lullabies and teeth.
It whispered: “Shh. Stay still. This won’t hurt long.”
And I believed it.
Of course I did. I always do.

It kissed my silence like it wanted to own it,
pressed its mouth to the scream I buried in the drywall.
It didn’t ask permission.
It lit a match inside my throat
and waited to see what would burn.

My dreams—
they came barefoot and ******,
clutching a map of all the places I left myself behind.
They rubbed balm on my bruises
with hands that looked like mine
but steadier.

They said:
"You were not born to starve on your own sorrow."
But I’d grown so used to the taste,
I didn’t know how to eat without bleeding.

Love swept in like weather—
a hurricane in a soft dress,
a war poem with a soft mouth.

It did not heal me gently.
It cracked my ribs open
and climbed inside,
said “Here. Let me haunt you kindly.”

And I let it.
Of course I did. I always do.

Hey you, you look like my lover
Hey you, you remind me of how things were when my heart was whole
Hey you, let me lick your golden fingers
Hey you, will you let me recall her in you?
Hey you, will you allow me to paint you over?
Hey you, will you let go?

Lover, lover, lover let me **** your power you are not weak
Let me take your flower in the middle of the summer somewhere in my corn field.


Am I playing the god with my own mind or just gone crazy?
I hope you like this new body

Lover. Lover. Lover stay. Let the juices flow in my brain. Stay my DMT.

Devil over the shoulder and just last week I burned the last bridge reaching for you in places you do not exist.