reading romance novels is my closest experience to love
i bought myself some flowers due to the reasons I mentioned above
my bangs cover the darkness behind my forehead
sometimes everything coherent slips through my melancholical mindset

© fey (09/09/19)

your sheepish smile resides
inbetween coffee stained book pages.

pearl-white row of teeth abide,
as those lips linger on the rim of forgotten faces.

© fey (14/07/23)

The summer light does not touch me.
It shines in delicate rivers on the brightly polished stairs,
where the gelatieri stroll with sweet iced coffee,
unimagined, oblivious.

The summer light does not touch me.
It brushes the children, who - in growing flocks -
chime their laughter atop neighbor's doors with delicate knocks;
bell-bright bicycle bells ringing.

The summer light does not touch me.
Twenty-three forty-four; peripheral car brake light coming forth.
The first leaf sonorously breathes “Goodbye; I'll leave”
and at last it creeps up, a swift cold touch -
the autumnal welcoming committee for my July melancholy.

© fey (24/07/22)

with featherlike movements
he undresses me
not with his trembling fingers but
more with the whispered words lingering on my skin

"I'm afraid of loving you."

the way his gaze travels across my body
reminds me of what Helène told me
people loving each other with eyes closed
and lips ready to explore elegantly

i said that i am always a little sad
maybe he was too.

© fey (30/08/20)

Under the moon's soft, silvery glow,
A white spider weaves its porcelain thread,
Amidst lavender blooms that gently sway,
In the night's tender breath, delicately spread.

Elegant limbs trace a whispered dance,
Across petals that dream of the Lethe's serene flow,
A river of forgetting, where old sorrows fade,
Yet here, in this garden, memories gently grow.

Each movement is a testament to nature's grace,
In the lavender's embrace, a tranquil romance,
Where time pauses, and the heart finds rest,
As the white spider spins its eternal trance.

© fey (20/07/24)

It's a dark place again,
where humans lay their 9 to 5 hands
on concrete dreams for them to dare plan
but never to achieve,
for even a glimpse of a moment,
for the fracture of a canvas with no end.

© fey (16/08/24)

i'll never forget how his radiant blue eyes
concealed such a vast, continuously expanding universe
and how his notorious laugh echoed like a toneless thunder
through my quietly admiring, sunken gaze.

the messy handwriting adorning his caffeine-kissed lips,
lovely tainting the fancy words on his fiery tongue,
as mesmerizing as the last remnants of a lunar eclipse
i was swept away easily, utterly stupid, naive and also young.

i would have loved to be absorbed by his crazy tellings,
deeply hidden underneath that soft, brownish locks of his,
containing the tempting sweetness of honey drops, indwelling
as an uncharted, seldom kind of bliss.

© fey (11/09/20)

In silence lay concealed and still,
The blue of heavens here ahead,
It held the reins of clouds, yet frail,
While petals strove a lasting thread.

Astray she turned her hand away,
Towards the pale horizon's line,
In despair the black birds sway,
Around bare branches fading shrine.

In endless gleam of sun so pale,
Averted from the longing death,
Carnations scent, so bright and hale,
She staggers back to life's last breath.

There, where light falls veilly thin,
Enveloped in the darkest night,
A whisper of peace softly spins,
A distant melody, a laugh still light.

In whispers of transience frail,
Unfolds the delicacy of a strand,
That through time carries without fail,
The warmth a set of hands prevails.

And in life's chaos, heavy dire,
A spark of hope ignites within,
Thus moments so deeply inspire,
That life’s enchantment does begin.

© fey (23/04/24)

In the dim-lit maze of life's intricate game,
We dance, entwined, like a moth to a flame.
Beneath the veil of the starry night's sprawl,
Our souls converge, answering destiny's call.

Your essence, a beacon, in shadows aglow,
Drawing me closer, an irresistible flow.
With each hesitant step, I'm ensnared in your light,
Lost in the depths of this ethereal flight.

Yet, amidst the allure, a tempest brews deep,
A turmoil of passion, where secrets keep.
For in the fervor of love's fervent embrace,
Lies the perilous beauty of vulnerability's grace.

Like a moth to a flame, I'm bound and enticed,
By the flame of your love, by the price.
For though the fire burns with a fervent desire,
It also consumes, a relentless pyre.

In the flicker of moments, we find our reprieve,
In the shadowed corners where hearts believe.
For in the union of souls, in love's sweet refrain,
We're forever bound, like a moth to its flame.

© fey (26/04/24)

There is a longing in my heart.
I want a piece of the setting sun,
in my broken ribcage to be a part
of and let my thoughtful worries run.

Away.
Away.
Far away.

© fey (7 weeks ago)

There the sublime clouds drift swiftly,
in a sense were the white rearranges
the future to a distant storm that hits me
and whatever on its way might changes.

I gather the moss, moist around the edges
of where my head lays still and longing,
I gather despair where the butterfly catches
the ranging motion of insects foreboding.

I tried to stay around the scorching sun,
its rays even illuminating the darkest of shades,
maybe I'll stay safe and sound on the longest of runs
life unmistakingly sends towards its hidden fates.

Maybe I'll be safe
in this cornflower-blueish maze
where the periphery of its vigilant gaze
skirts the tiniest bit of hope towards my way.

Or maybe not.

© fey (20/05/24)

Light my fire,
shade and tender,
embers dark,
heart surrenders,
to you,
no vigor,
to you,
the sweetest of liquor.

I call you
mine.
I call you when the lightnings flicker
in the brazen afternoon.
The gleam of eyes still linger
on the milky porcelain of moon.

Until no spark shall burn again,
Until we meet with no restrain.
I love you,
I love you with the utmost of care.
I love you when the sun turns gray
and the seas recede and cease.
I love you in the darkest of day,
until we meet, until we fade
and only the ashes remain.
And I will love you no less.

© fey (23/05/24)

our fingertips meet gently on the rim of porcelain
and as we take a sip from liquid infinity
all the numbness abides - induced by frost and rain.

the ember glow ascending from your eyes -
no tender coffee with cream could ever achieve -
is the epitome of what makes my inner child arise.

and i adore the way your index finger moves around the surface of the storm-kissed-window,
while you utter your thanks for whatever makes this autumnal evening swirl in an indigo-colored vertigo.

and i see it too.

© fey (27/12/21)

What does your heart do at night?
It spins silk silently above the clouded sky.
And when it levitates back to thee
the moon is curdled in every beat of me.

© fey (20/11/22)

my coffee filter mind
consists of bitterness.
I let everything in
especially nothingness.
Something, I would like to keep
always flows through
these paper thin walls,
which only made me blue.

I wish to be loved,
I wish to be friends with,
I wish to exist

if only for oblivious bliss.

I ADMIT IT.

Instead, I hide myself
in a metaphorical beverage machine,
that enchants the taste buds of
every sleep-deprived lover of caffeine.

I secretely long
for those things I despise
because I'm so f*cking scared

of ripping my paper thin disguise.

My coffee filter mind
more or less cries.
Because it's not comfortable being around
others of her kind.

I want someone  to tear open my heart,
not to invade but rather comfort

my obnoxious coffee filter part.

© fey (16/07/17)

I wander swiftly on the edge of moonlight,
when the sun hides its translucent shadows
and the city indulges in everyone's sight,
moving under sunken, rain-starved meadows.

My name is not yours to take.
I am myself, I am thy ghostly gaze.
And I vanish from the remnants of our occupied space,
without you knowing, without the softness of your gentle face.

© fey (09/10/23)

sometimes
i expect people to be mind readers
because isolating myself inquires
friends to notice my absent features.

right?
well. not really.

is it too much to ask
if i am okay or even ALIVE?
sometimes people tend to hide behind
their shallow social media disguise

and i am sick of it.

morever,
i am sick of feeling redundant
unloved and absolutely angry about
experiencing an inner abundance.

that mental illness is giving me a hard time
because lacking of serotonin means
to struggle daily with a weird kind of paradigm

meaning that
despite people telling me that they do love and care,
i will never believe them because
from the very moment they share
that same feeling with someone else
i want to get a nom de guerre
and quickly travel to god knows where.

© fey (08/03/20)

I may not love you to the moon and back
but
I still cherish the bulky craters you have left
on
the surface of my withered heartstrings,
oh the wondrous perils of heartache.

© fey (18/10/24)

one thought, quietly
sneaks through the 30 milligrams of amitriptyline
in an unmistakable and perfidious way.

and whispers, full of dark foreboding:
"I know serotonin isn't enough for you,
my darling."

© fey (29/09/20)

I buried your smile beneath the rose garden,
for when the buds pick on the cry of the purple martin,
you'll be there,
never apart in
the winter-y longing, so strong, an
easy way for the dreaming soil to catch wrens,
you prolonged underneath, before me,
before us, before the rain-drenched, silvery shining stems
for all the world to catch, for all the prying eyes to see.

So let me water your gentle dimples, where the petals fimble.
Because I love you,
and I love our messy rose garden,
alluring bees, always keeping them from starving.

© fey (08/06/24)

I have my way with words,
while you draw moonlit circles
around my tell-tale heart
in the fading highway streetlights.

You have your way with hands,
firm, yet gentle like
a rose with steady thorns;
tucking away those pesky hair strands of mine.

I have my way with distance,
a star whose light long died
but never ceasing to mesmerize
those who dare gazing at the velvet night sky.

We both have our way with meek,
yours soft to the touch; rain on burning wounds,
mine a sharp long knife, smooth across your cheek,
as both we longingly complete our long forsaken muse to keep.

© fey (26/05/24)

eyes in the color of outer space,
the milky way lost its enchanting glow,
whenever you lifted your reticent gaze.

apropos

you are a solid caldwell 39,
six-thousand-five-hundred-twenty light years away,
probably the "acid to my alcaline",
even the matrix to my data storing array.

I am quiet. I am calm. I am out of control.
maybe even slightly delirious.
my rationality got ****** into a black hole.

my heartless state in a temper tantrum; furious.

you are in outer space,
close to my everlasting hope.

If we won't meet face to face,
I will continue watching you through my telescope.

© fey (28/12/29)

(I)

I once had friends,
gathered like pearls on a string.
I kept them with me,
as a bird would
with its pretty wings.
But once they outgrew me,
they all fell apart
and along with them
my fragile heart.

(II)

I heard a nasty sound,
with shaky hands I searched
their presence on the ground.
But they were gone,
already rearranged.
So all I had
was a tattered ribcage.
Frozen in time,
lost in space
a heart with no beat,
just a shallow haze.

(III)

I made friends with words
instead.
Once they were written,
they would all stay in place.
The letters on paper
toneless, they said:
"you are my creator",
to which I replied
"with pleasure.
as long as you are not a traitor."

© fey (16/07/17)

She wanted the chaos back;
amplifying, energy flowing
like a swarm of untamed crows.

The sky whispering, murmuring
in the language of exploding words,
brimming with lethal force.

Her name was Rain and alone she reigned,
the skies of her choice.

© fey (24/07/22)

Poets and flowers persist alike
They both bloom and wither away while they align
To the harsh winters, the shifting currents of life
has to offer

Will you gently dance with me
till I too,
wither?

And will you hold my petals
as if you were to
kiss the palm of my hand too
as we both sway away,
as we both drift together?

© fey (16/05/24)

In the garden, roses bloom,
Casting shadows, scenting gloom,
Petals whisper, colors gleam,
In their beauty, lies a dream.

Life's grand tale in blooms unfolds,
Each rose a story softly told,
From bud to blossom, swift to fade,
In their essence, truth displayed.

Thorns remind of trials faced,
Yet in pain, pure grace is traced,
Life, like roses, sweet and brief,
Balanced between joy and grief.

Morning dew and evening light,
Kiss the roses, pure delight,
Cycles spin, time flows and flows,
In each moment, wisdom grows.

In their fragrance, love resides,
In their bloom, all time abides,
Roses teach us, life is this –
A fleeting, fragrant, tender kiss.

© fey (15/06/24)

Rays of mik-white porcelain
covered her delicate fingertips -
as she painted the vast sky
a crescent companion.

© fey (05/06/22)

September leaves rustled in the glades of my mind,
I saw them dancing golden since August and July.

They shone gently in the tone of your eyes - russet-chestnut and striking hazel;
I still couldn't name how they struck me like a sharp blade - cruel and fatal.

And I saw your ghost lingering
in the corn fields of this autumnal dream.
You as blue aciano, me as red poppy,
complementing our floral color scheme.

A person like you doesen't even exist
and yet I am writing this.
Summer died long ago
but we were meant for the fall with the aching of the cold wind's blow.

© fey (19/09/21)

i'm feeling,
i'm dreaming
exceptionally lonely today

stumbeling from phrase to phrase,
like a toddler learning to
get used to the endless space
of walking.

serotonin is a fleeting butterfly
as equally lost as the moth that died
while diasappearing in the crescent moonlight

i need a better molecule structure,
maybe a more sophisticated formula
to deminish the activity of the stupid receptors

i just want to be happy.

© fey (14/09/20)

sharks are passing through my brain,
for a second I thought they were beautiful.
but as I looked up again,
they were consuming my happiness away.

© fey (27/11/19)

if i point a gun at the sky
will I have a shooting star?
because I can no longer believe in a lie,
spoken by imaginary gods from afar.
so I am going to create my own wish
with weapons made by human hands.
at least I can count on them,
for they will never diminish my devious plans.

© fey (12/12/20)

I see my kins dancing and laughing in unision
but I crave the silence - the forgotten sound of reverie.
Am I a part of their worldy communion
or is my world simply a lonesome treachery?

© fey (10/07/22)

The auburn flicker silently danced across her half-closed eyelids. A barely noticeable smile ghosted around her lips, as her empty eyes bore into the flaming core of the candle. He watched her, mesmerized, in undefinable awe of what was going on behind that small barrier of flesh and bone above her eyebrows.

“Have you ever wanted something so insignificant to swallow the world as a whole?”, she whispered, eyes still locked on the tiny flame, caged inside the glass of the candle. He couldn’t manage to answer. The only visible response was irritation, unfolding between the tiny space of his eyebrows.

But then her smile widened, overshadowed by immeasurable melancholy.

And then he understood.

© fey (18/01/21)

i once made you a necklace with starlight in its core,
but its shine has died a long time ago,
before it even had the chance to be worn.

© fey (17/08/20)

I tint your eyes in hues of an auburn sky,
set aflame a starling's wings, flapping lazily in delight.

You are my sunset, a gentle murmur from within,
I will see you again, when the sunken snow drops return back in spring.

© fey (06/07/24)

tend me like a succulent plant
let me get accustomed to
a place with more than just
an ephimeral hint
of a sunny view.

© fey (18/08/20)

As I kept my head down on the meadow,
all the murmurs of the bugs were speaking,
unintelligible syllables, the air in afternoon's glow,
and in the distance birches creaking.

You were striking mid-town errands,
the pace of life kept men at bay,
but you froze at the aisle for carrots,
thinking them as alien bouquets.

Instead of roses you collected
those orange flowers at that aisle,
so not alike them, disconnected
but the thought of them brought you a smile.

Me picking on that bundle carrots,
for my pesky, haughty parents to stare at,
as if you were to gave me flowers,
as if we had our own agreement,
in these secret after-hours.

© fey (26/05/24)

night has befallen your eyes agleam,
iris casting shadows on those unseen -
falling, falling deep; darling, dearest
my gaze will catch you from the darkest pits - you
crestfallen, asleep - weaping on the tower's peak.

© fey (27/05/22)

where did the smoke travel to
flame dead of the wick's woe
where did you go when
chronos stopped time and
aphrodite longed to see you
as the candle's grime continues
to taint the glass from
transparent to white and black
where you onced had vanished to.

© fey (05/11/20)

In the floral trio of the noble honeysuckle,
a honeydewed sound unfolds in your place so subtle;
and when the cat warms its mosaic fur's bundle,
the carpenter bee's bold hum sparks 'midst magenta blossoms humble.

Midnight-black violet cascades,
in its mien, the feline face, serene and staid;
the last ice palaces would here ignite,
as dragonflies rose from jagged winter heights.

© fey (06/06/24)

she inhaled happiness like a dunhill cigarette,
smoke lingering on her cherry-red lips,
eyes vibrant of her last lover's kiss.

but she could not fathom mundane affects
of short-tempered love, masked as the ordinary desire of men.

no one asked from where her dull smile and the fine, white lines on her arms originated from,
nor did anyone cared enough about the numerous bruises,
ironically aligned like
a blossoming sunset between her thighs.

she was just the briefly glowing ember
in one's snow cold and harsh december.

© fey (23/08/20)

drunk on melancholy, i wander aimlessly
through the solemn state of “komorebi”,
where the sun dances in between leaves,
reflecting its countless memories.

if i had to describe how lonely each step feels,
I would tip-toe around intangible infinity.
my eyes gaze at the neighborhood like
a veil carries me through each door.
and it hurts to hear the laughter inside
because none of it has company anymore.

I wonder if the girls I spent my childhood with
are still behind those walls, in united reminiscence,
or am I the only loner chasing the spirits of the past,
lingering in each pebble my feet passes by.

© fey (02/04/2021)

My ghostly heart longed for this story in ways,
it made lipstick stains appear on each and every page
and as the phrases hastily crumbled away,
under my ephemeral, sunken gaze,
the sun had also vanished from its cloudy lace,
somewhere in-between saccharine caffeine stains.

"Devourer of alienated lifes", he whispers softly,
"tell me your name, so that I may sleep in peace and bid my last farewell."
A mocking smile danced around the corners of her ink-tarred mouth, veiling the disease
of the joyous moments of a fleeting life's gentle breeze.
"You might already be aware of it", she exhales,
as she barely touches the brittle hands of her one and only lover,
known as DEATH.

© fey (06/05/21)

Wondrous porcelain above,
the pines have felt your touch beyond
and in the woods we sing –
of ephemeral, heavy spring.

© fey (09/11/24)

The night isn't gentle anymore.
Its darkness has a vice-like grip,
shattered, unwelcome
on her fragile throat,
leading to a crimson door,
full of destructive, intrusive thoughts about
sleeping
with eyes never wanting to open
again.

The night no longer offers rest
for her shattered, melancholical, heavy head
to gently abide the terrors of
turning silver to red on her already scarred flesh,
beucase life seems to stay
just like that.

© fey (30/12/20)

In the garden's tender shade I lie,
Underneath the azure sky,
Where whispers weave in harmony,
With the rustle of the leaves so free.

Beneath the boughs, I find my seat,
Where words of poets come to greet,
Their verses dance in the gentle breeze,
As I immerse in their symphonies.

A tapestry of blooms unfold,
Their colors bright, their stories told,
Each petal sings its own refrain,
In a language only hearts can gain.

The sun, a painter, strokes the air,
With golden hues, so fine and rare,
Its rays caress each blade of grass,
In a choreography, oh so vast.

And as I lose myself in verse,
In the garden's blessing, I immerse,
For here, between the earth and sky,
I find the beauty that will never die.

In nature's arms, I gently sway,
As time itself just slips away,
And in the silence, I'm not alone,
For poetry and nature, they are my home.

© fey (09/05/24)

the sad frog in my wallpaper
watches me suspiciously;
narrow eyes full of decay,
nostrils small and insignificant.
we are having an ambitious staring contest
each with their own emptiness.

© fey (01/09/20)

I keep the monsters at bay today,
Their future claws on my peripheral view.
The clouds are swelling in a distant gray,
As life hints me to this uncanny hue.

My eyes searched for God today,
Not in a way people keep praising about,
More like how bees know where to lay
Their small and delicate tenants; hinting no sound.

I let go of sorrow today,
As the breeze carried the chatter of birds astray.
And as the last rays of sunshine wandered along,
I carried my ****** home. I carry it home.

© fey (19/05/24)

i loathe the nightly routine of
complex human emotions.
the insecurity induced fear of
never knowing what intimacy might feel like
because my outer layers won’t invite
any invidivual in, since sharp daggers are
what a gaze of mine would spill

I loathe the nightly routine of
crying myself to sleep when I read
all the lovey-dovey descriptions of
some couples won defeat
over loneliness and feeling utterly incomplete.

I know you know what I mean.
being the first to hide and the last to dream
of idealistic connection in a world
lost in translation.

I see you.
behind the screen.
misunderstood.
not able to cross the line of
wanting to be alone and
never wanting to be alone again.

I get the hint.
I wish I wouldn’t be so bothered about it.
listen to the piece of advice saying
“it happens when you least expect it”,
**** their optimistic mindset, really

we live in a society,
where connection might be easy
but hard to develop as something
more than a swipe to the next inviting beauty.

video may have killed the radio star
but the digital absurdity of modern society
suffocated the hopelessly romantic
and gave him a good ******* amount of
overdeveloped anxiety.

© fey (05/10/20)

today the coffee turned cold before
my lips could touch the rim of the mug.

today the flowers in my garden withered before
i could watch the petals gently growing.

today the world feels less comfortable and
more lonely than ever before.

maybe tomorrow will be different but
yesterday i said that too.

© fey (15/03/21)