Each and every of us is a story
Story in my life
We never met physically
But we're family

We all weave our separate stories
But from a distance they are one
We all come from different places in this world
But in this screen we are one

Thank you for being my friend
Thank you for being my family
Thank you for being my happy memories
Thank you for being my life.

Chopin's Nocturne opus 9, number 2

A sonorous performance,
The mellow yet melancholic undertones of the masterpiece reverbates through the meadow
From the reflective rubato streaking past the flowerbed,
To the passionate conclusion in a whim, echoing through the garden,
The garden in which a willow rests
Its twigs holding a chalice in its embroidering,
Twines glowing in the shimmering of the silver moon,
Its dark-red fluids seeping from the cracks

It gazes through the dark crevasses for an eternity,
A panorama of planets and stars dwindling to dust as it stirs its nebulas,
Clouding its view as in parallel,
Universes as large as needle tips deteriorate to nothing

There's just naught, nothing, nothingness,
The black mass piercing,
Puncturing the veins of the solemn soul wandering through the canyon
Rubato, stringendo, it walks its own pace and in its solitude
The moonlight its guide, the music its guardian
The darkness its friend

The walls enclosed - an impasse clad in an aural hue descending from the stars
An eternal mirror flowing accross the pond
It took a gander in the deep lagoon and saw the galaxy unfold

Sparkling candenzas fluttering through the sky like fireflies
Ever abiding, expanding galaxies within the grasp of its cortex
The moon flows, the stream flows
The sound of drizzling water emanating from the distance
Timeless endeavour snaps back to reality

I found myself sitting in a dim-lit room, glass in hand
The mellow taste of the blood-red wine
A bouquet of fine grapes with cherry undertones
In the corner rests the mirror I gaze in occasionally

Seconds pass and I gazed into an abyss

Minutes pass and I gazed into an abyss
A murky shadow lurking

Hours pass and I gazed into an abyss
A murky shadow along two red stars

Days pass and I gazed into an abyss
A silhouette hued in rubescence grimacing with hollow eyes

Weeks pass and I gazed into an abyss
T H E  E Y E S  W A T C H  M E  W H E R E V E R  I  G O

Months pass and I observed a whole new universe
As I looked at the crevice staring back at me
It smiled and reached its hand

Years pass and I gazed into an abyss
The opaque mass piercing my glassy veil as familiarity reminiscences
A supernova of grief and destruction strokes my back, pinching my neck
The willow is dead
The moon is red
A brittle chalice crusted with blood

Then it fell silent and yet the nocturne faintly lingered in my head
As I stared into the mirror for the first time in centuries

It stared back, bearing the most unnerving grimace

Static screens, calling my name.
Disfigured frames of my bedroom.
Morphed audio, taunting me.
Red velvet, soft sheets.

Downing more medicine.
It helps with the voices.
The screens still shake.
Audio still plays.

Secret messages, binary within screens.
Static, glitching televisions.
Unsettling 70s chimes.
Warm water, overflowing bath.

Downing more medicine.
It helps with the voices.
Messages swarming in my mind.
Songs stuck in my head.

Human eyes, staring at me through screens.
Human lips, moving at me through screens.
They're talking, I can hear them.
Their voice is glitched and edited.

Downing more medicine.
It helps with the voices.
I can't hear anything anymore.
I can't see.

                                                           ­  I can't breathe.

The sky is bright blue.
Mesmerising.

The air is fresh and clean.
Beautiful.

This could all be a dream, but, it seems it's not.
As his nightmares have become his dreams.

Though, the pleasant picture fades to black, never to be seen again.

Cold, moist wind, blowing in all directions.
Horrible.

Blackness stained under fingernails.
Putrid.

He battered his tiny fist to feel something.
Just to feel something.
His stomach painted violet.

The bathtub filled to the brim with lukewarm water.
His fingers prune immediately.
His tears like rain in the tub.

Sinking his head down, wishing to be reborn.
A glass child, breaking at the seams.

Blank faces walk past me
A visual elegy
In the morning past the city streets
Yet everyone persists so dimly
The overcast retracts the colour from my sight
As if it is midnight
And traces, shapes of phases
My shoelaces untangle themselves and I fall
Flat

The phasing interrupts my morning stroll
Predators on the prowl
Clad in amber
Stalking through the morning night mass
Hearts locked, empty locket
Deafening the peace in its trail
Chasing my tail and once I'm had
It detains me, immobilises me, I am
Caught

The city of black and white
Has no time for shades of grey
And yet the vivid colours bond
But yet I tripped
And in the black and white streets
I was trapped in technicolor

And I danced on the mellow sounds of the grammophone
With dozens of friends standing aside
And they enjoyed the feast and at least
I was overcome with joy

I sat amongst a crowd of mannequins
Their fabricated smiles warmed me
And I danced on the music of the creaking windows
Ignoring the cracks around me

We celebrated in glee and raised our glasses
A speech, they demanded
A speech, I granted

And I spoke on the spot, glass in hand
In an empty room I remained

After a strenuous hike I met a man
With no arms and just one leg
But he would always smile at life

What makes you happy?
What makes you fine?
How do you forget that you are broken

But the man kept on smiling and said
"It is fine"
And I found myself staring in the mirror