words.
sometimes are flowers
that grow in variety of colors,
dance among the bees
and bloom among the trees.
but most of the time,
they are gunshots
we often hear from a mouth
of a person who seeks power
over a vulnerable soul.

​words.
they frighten me
like weapons.
like fire.
like ice.
they can be anything
you want them to be.
you can spit them out
in a one clap
but they form big
among the beat of a heart.
they can be knives today
but who knows?
maybe tomorrow
they are a gun placed
beside your skull
with a trigger
waiting to be pulled
and a bullet to be shot.

i've only known two colors in my life:
grey, like a cloud that forms after a strong dive of a huge bomb
and red, like the blood that streams after a loud gunshot.

now i believe the sadness that comes as time matures and changes everything. it's like yesterday i was tasting the sweet nothings from your lips as it moved slow-mo against mine and your eyes closed like an angel's. but now, all i taste is this sour, bitter v0dka in this tiny, tiny glass. at least, it's more appetizing than your useless promises that you have also eaten the time you left.

i spend every night
staring at the ceiling
blankly like a discharged
asylum patient.
always, my pillows are wet
so are my wrists
with blood oozing
from the slits i keep
making every now and then.

it doesn't hurt at all.
i would prefer to harm myself
than living a life
contaminated by regrets.

i remember too well
that afternoon of April
when the sun was so bold
with its orange-crimson touch
i told you i love you
and my heart skipped a beat
because it knew
that was a wrong move.
you picked a flower
beside your left toe,
you hung it on my left ear,
and you told me
"please don't."

do not say "i love you"
when you really want
is kiss my lips
pull off my shirt
unzip my pants
and lie my body
under yours.

do not.
such phrase
is precious and beautiful
it doesn't deserve
to be treated
the way
you treat me.