I hear voices in my head like a call from the dead
I hear a shush in my blood like the rush of a stream
I see colours of darkness echoing my weakness
I see the wind pass by with a quire uniqueness
I feel the pulse of my heart as monsters start
To roam about the twilight zone where I lieth
On the fringes of human existence with courage of Goliath
The reeking smell of sweat as karma runs my way
And mine own as I attempt to evade her though she'll catch up someday
I smell it all like the sweet stench of sewage out a broken pipe
I see an awaiting fate that looks like my type
So I walk now like later isn't about to happen
I walk with strength of the whole though I'm broken
With my eyes everywhere cause destiny might take the shot
I walk like a giant monster in my dreams though I'm short
Like a courageous legendary warrior that I'm not
I walk down my boulevard, closer to the great beyond
I walk stiff smart and steady like I'm James bond

the kind of girl that can't go out in public without people taking a second look;
but not at her face they look at the lines of destruction
trailing her arms and legs,
the void in her eyes,
the hollowness of her soul nearly stops them
in their tracks if they bump against her,
she is a walking black hole.

You won't be
Forgiven
For the lies
Your fingertips
Left

i reached for his hair
as if he'd jumped off the side of a building and
that was all that was left to hold onto.
i grasped at his clothes
as if he'd filled his pockets with stones and
that was the last part of him above the depths of a lake.
i looked at my reflection in his eyes
as if he'd stopped loving me and
i could make him love me again just by making eye contact.

My head is knots on knots
No cheeky red faced scout
Oaths to untangle
Except perhaps
people crazier than I

Sullen as a brick on the wall
Imposed as a figurine doll
The ant-like people
Look on and leave
As if I was a bad show,
Their awareness too
untamed for
my script.

Not Scarlett O' Hara
With lovers on a row
No, no, no mister
I am an antiheroine
Waiting to happen
The world is my stage
Unlike Hamlet certain that
I am going
to be.
 
My wings have
Fallen flat on the
road like gravel
But I make feathers
From leaves people
Leave behind
And sew them
Like stitches in
My spine.

No.
I am not the person
You read in books
with jargons sprawled
Like fancy words only
money could buy.

I am stuck in the walls
Everyone stares when
They get too stuck
With pain and alcohol
Dreamt like hallucinations
Refused like a cul-de-sac

Do not play me
Like a ragged doll
Of your forgotten child
Or a roadside blossom
plucked in fickleness
For I have become
This and that.
This and that.
Over and over
The pawn and
The king
All at once.

it started out like ashes floating down from the sky,
landing on my tongue with the color of snow and the taste of acid.
i can feel the flakes in my throat,
can feel it burning,
can feel it creeping down my windpipe and into my stomach and my heart and my head.
it starts out as ashes and then it is a spark landing on my skin,
a spark reflecting off of so many drops of crimson hitting the floor.
and before i can quite catch my breath it is a wildfire
it is burning me
it is melting the skin off my bones
with endless thoughts of ledges and bottles of pills and taking a ******* gun to my head
and
i
am
still.
everything inside me, the inferno burning me up is still.
i have tried to fill the hole it left with so many shots,
so many pills,
so many drags of smoke and so many cuts to my skin.
i am nothing but an empty void to throw myself into,
a walking black hole,
a corpse above the ground.

I'm here. These texts these sacred carnivorous words
this verbal membrane
(read carefully I summon you read twice!) :
curtain meninx electroshock therapy
blanket straitjacket
bed-sheet ***** placenta

I praise this osmotic verbal membrane
I give you I get undressed I curse myself
Ah! my repressed whorish pathos:
I give you lucidly
Any poetic art is written in ink
(I calmly assure  in public)
in fact
in these mortal neurons

Darkness and dust

These texts these words I've picked from books and streets
Only this ultimate membrane
(precious like the *****
fragile like soap bubbles)
still separates me
from the psychic space where you've pushed me
                                             as towards the springs of the Nile
from the psychic place whence  I try - cautiously
painfully - to pull out:
my hands my paws my brain my heart
What is beyond? darkness and dust
What is left? a poetic art this darkness this dust
these cracking neurons

Marta Petreu
*translated by Liviu Bleoca

"i hate when people say they aren't giving their best effort. today, your best effort was coming here, or letting someone bring you here. your best effort was letting someone help you. that's the best you could do. it's the best you can do for you."

I don't want to hurt you
I never did
You may have broken my heart,
Smashed it to smithereens,
Thrown my delicate, glass heart
Against the cold, hard, concrete floor
But that doesn't make me
Want to break yours
Not at all
I slowly placed it
On a fluffy, goose-down pillow
Just waiting for the right girl
To come along and pick it up
I hope she carries it well
I hope you won't see me
Kneeling on the floor,
Hands bloodied,
Trying to pick up the broken shards
Of my glass heart