Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Oct 2017 · 200
theater
Dec 2016 · 523
frogs and wasps
persefona Dec 2016
the window crack was filled with wasps
they multiplied by blinks
seeping out rapidly
slinging to our lives
******* to the honey of our fears
Or mine, surely they were mine to begin with

frogs are slimy creatures that rapidly shift from one puddle of crap to another.
they are everywhere, as i try to count them i myself turn into one
only I am not green
my frog color is **** like. its a puddle of beer brown and rotten avocado.
I, the frog, have a smell- a vacuum cleaner odor essence
muddy puddles where other frogs are seem to be occupied
and so i am left with the vicious wasps
Jun 2016 · 340
jun.
persefona Jun 2016
I am so terrified. Ashamed in a dark veil
rolling in it for days now, no cut out to be found.

i would press my stomach until I became so small that to reinvent myself would be just like enlarging
not starting over.
shame in the shadow tucks me in, several times a day.
rather than cries for help
blurs of hell

they whisper it wont end
dont fool your self
you are just fooling yourself
when you come this far going anywhere else....hah, dont fool yourself
slur into oblivion
maltreat into expiration
May 2016 · 264
night ale
persefona May 2016
I had seen them separately
for summer months in several occasions
both frail but different.

She was melancholic.
He was depressed.

He would want to **** what ever came his way
She wouldn't because her wound was still puffy and prickling.
Maybe she still wanted him to **** her, but would never admit.
He roamed around young flesh and devoured every possible minute of sensation.
swallowing all kind of crap for a hand of youth.
They were both in a golden cage of their thirst for blossom.
Such sadness.
The more they spoke the more it never made sense to me.
Maybe that was the trick.
They took away time I will never get back, time when they had it was spent differently.
I would rather make love and wonder the streets with miracles of the skies.
Instead I am looking at all these people running around with these suitcases they carry full of their history crap.
Soon I ll get one for myself and stand to a much younger than me who looks at the world with the eyes of a five years old.
It's inevitable, they told me.
No one will know that I am alive. It will be late at night, beautiful beer bottles and a suitcase.
May 2016 · 382
///
persefona May 2016
///
I sit for most of the day
almost always by the window

I place my muzzy body in a tall wooden chair
run my fingers through my eyes
smear dreadful thoughts
which begin with pain in my left thumb
deadness plocks
I am captive.

I want. I tell myself what i want.
I want it to be mine, to come from my aching bones and tingly devilish spasms
petrified
patricide
but its not me. or is it
a solemn search
where the lights are off

I want a vessel to open
in soft creamy sunlight streaks
with warm feel
gushing the stupidness out
numerous arms will captivate me
others. not mine
in crisp air
easy kisses
plop
May 2016 · 1.0k
cave
persefona May 2016
I poured coffee for the electrician, into the other cup/
other cups are in a different cupboard, other cups are... now I know what other cups are for

I shame myself
blue-green liquid dissolves with my fingers, pinching white foam slurring at me
they are all the same. i think. but not act

I poured sparkling water for the electrician, into the other glass
mine had drawings by Miro
his was not mine and tattered.

All of this, happened in the morning.
Now that the evening has come, I penn it.  
with admirations and motivation of different kind in mind,
with solitary aspiration
to be effective.

tonight I'll have a slight opinion
but it better not dissolve by sunrise
yet rise and prevail.
for before the disgrace
I ponder in wordy content of mere echo
in the unknown covert cave of me
Apr 2016 · 576
plavo
persefona Apr 2016
onda kada mislim o lepim a propalim secanjima,
kada ponekad sebi to dozvolim
najstrasnije se kaznim.
kidam i ljustim sebe razlozima
dopustam samo jednoznacnost.

onda kada mislim o njihovoj liniji
isprekidam je
tako su mi prazni
tako nedostizni
njihova linija obecanja, strahova, velikih saka i praznih stomaka
uzasava me.

onda pomislim  kod onih drugih mora da je bolje, toplije i neznije
mozda tamo more postoji

stene

istina


onda, opet setim se plavog vrtloga
onda, opet kaznim se
Apr 2016 · 292
sunday
persefona Apr 2016
i am sick of myself.
my sweet and overly ripe words
i need not to even think of myself in any other way
i am already sick
the prolonging of my so called existence
the falseness which clings to me
i kick it and hide it sometimes
only to find myself
unsuccessful and worried  
that it shows off.

frivolousness.

it leaks and sprouts through every cell
incomprehensible extinction  
of my lost way.

a disgrace.

for being sick of myself only i can be
for no one else could even tackle the madness of the inside plot
of fluid wandering
of scattered taint of rotting business. unfinished.

uncertainty.

once again.
Apr 2016 · 754
mdma mm
persefona Apr 2016
dip. once. dip. twice.
a dip into a crystal lust

so sweet. just so forbidden.

just so that it lures
a retaliation
on high grey rocks
stupendous ash rocks

top. one. bottom. two
dare to jump into an abyss of blue shame
dare run around
naked
chasing crystal lust

only when in water it shall dissolve
Nov 2015 · 656
---
persefona Nov 2015
---
tvoja drugarica slikala je ono mesto
gde sam pojela svoju prvu tufahiju.
tvoja drugarica slikala je ono mesto sa istog onog mesta gde sam ja sedela.

smazala sam i tvoj šlag.
progutala vodu i čežnju da vriskom ispljunem nekakav svtlucavi okean žudnje za ponovnim
prati nas tišina.
gledaš
ja se borim da te ne volim
pa te onda pogledam i davim se
u šlagu
u izvesnosti sebe
u lakoći gledanja u tebe

izmislila sam te. to znam.
sad kad se još uvek borim da te ne volim.
Nov 2015 · 317
R
persefona Nov 2015
R
I wanted to write a poem for my sister
one about the sycamore tree

its crisp petals beneath all our shared beds
mother womb treasures split in silence.
starting from her frail bones and opaque blood
the rise of her feet
her night flower soul.

I wanted to write a poem about my sister
to gleam like a mirror
in the agony of infinite sundays and sun rays
as she calculates each sun
so it can celebrate her and reflect
from my deeply clogged adoring throat.

under and above the fig tree we lay
around us ripe round fruits
sticky with perpetual juice
rotting with skid marks
bearing the ghosts of past generations
yet a whisper is dropped
how the woods, the ocean and the desert are good
they nourish the stars.
So we move to our own dust.
Perhaps in illicit seasons we find flare
for guidance in finding a different sky.
Sep 2015 · 202
Untitled
persefona Sep 2015
our spring was sublime,
summer we missed out on
it was cold 30something degrees
a chip in the ice plaza
Aug 2015 · 790
p
persefona Aug 2015
p
Sara iz kosmara izlazi na ulicu da proseta kera. U parku sama, vitla sebi po glavi.  Po parku govna, plasticne cinije sa pirincem natopljene vodom i uljem, lisce mrtve lipe,  flopovi kao putokazi poredjani.
Misa, taj kao neki njen momak, ko muva neuhvatljiv a isto tako i zaboravan samo se po govnima mota i plete mrezu romanticarske lazljive ideologije istine i solidarnosti. On se kao providnim celofanom uvija u svoje reci ali sad vec kao da je pod reflektorima nabubrelog meseca i nema kud. Proziri se. Ne konzistentan. Kukavica, shvata ona.


Shvata da Misa je kao sarena laza-
Ili mozda ipak nije bas sve tako. A kako li je? Kako prazan prostor puni je sumnjom ali i nekim leprsavim osecajem ljubavi.
Aug 2015 · 358
/
persefona Aug 2015
/
I woke up sometime in the night.
didn't know the hour
soft caressing blows of wind were gone
it was so quite
warm
gloomy
parched

I woke up
in longing for the soothing wind
away from dreams of flying fish and short kisses
I am a woman, naked, traversing in search
a child clutching for a nightlight
then I went back to sleep
back to a nightly life
to a new start
Aug 2015 · 327
rat
persefona Aug 2015
rat
the night was icy cold.
slippery pavements and frosted rooftops.
I wore dark leather boots, color of burnt sugar. I walked the usual line of lower loneliness.
I walked into deathly crowning of decaying and cheap philosophy.
sea **** ribbon circled my trust, down to a table and perpetual darkness
my legs tangled, my eyes flopped, my heart prickled.
our generation's greatest triumph- a total demise of self. a kingdom of control took me by its metal and plastic tolls, wallowing me in mud of despair.
But there was something else.
Glomming my tiredly attention, filling my eyes with some kind of light, pulsating warmth drew me back to life.
Black locks of hair, drunken white frosting smelling of promise. A swift black river spilled into the ocean and I was floating. I felt it.
I felt it was there, a deep current of life.
Aug 2015 · 377
10
persefona Aug 2015
10
cakes. many cakes.

airport
9:15

**** in pants
found money

late. but not late
Jul 2015 · 307
Untitled
persefona Jul 2015
if what you are about to say this afternoon
while in green and blooming trees
will make my frail heart and rotting stomach toss like a bag of coins
i beg u to reconsider.
persefona Jun 2015
taj moj dragi,
što mi nije kao niko na ovome svetu
kada nađem se u snovima prejedem se slatkišima, tovarim čokoladice i bombone i šarene kremove da bih ćutala
ako se ušećeri poješce ga ljubičaste mušice, pomislih
pa se tako bojim još po koje krilatice, kao recimo aviona ili šarene lastavice
a ja kad-kad kratko i nespretno letim
punim se kamenjem i betonom
a praznim groznicom mednom

kada ruke ko dve reke ispoliva, useče oko mojih ko klavir rebara
pa mi se zbunjene pčele sele kroz čelo i telo celo
traži se nešto od kruške slađe
tu na usnama izvor namiguje

pa taj se, putnik čarobnjak
samnom ko lipa njiše
zimu šapatom pretvara u igru pustinjskog vetra
otvori oči i eto ga more

od koje li je on vrste?

za ogolićenu dušu odelo,
što lanenog kroja cvrstinu krije
nabori nemira i divljine
beskraj užarene širine
šavovi boje sunca
broje tugu nedostižnu

sa njim je toplo
sa njim je ritam najsjajnije zvezde
Jun 2015 · 660
tuzna lipa
persefona Jun 2015
to je kraj raja
kada mrtva lipa zamaze stopala, nabubrela od gazenja
nekada mirisni pupoljci
zalepe se za stomak

onda kada se avioni pomesaju sa zvezdama
i leteci mravi grizu ko na udici usecerenu krusku, moja stopala
to je kraj
konacnost spoznaje
tako rano,
previse rano
Jun 2015 · 288
13
persefona Jun 2015
13
i had a dream last night

you were my eyes and i was your arms

clumsy and lingering though the spring breeze, fondled by

the stars

we stood adopted into the pavement

eyes splashed into a blue horizon following gold glimmers

of intricate overwhelming 

feeding you onto myself maybe for the very last time, 

raw with love 

its time to say goodbye
Jun 2015 · 378
Untitled
persefona Jun 2015
cotton sheet murky ride
closed eyes muster full darkness
few heavy blinks
shapes of racoons, ants and birds with broken skulls appear
wax like eyes are dripping into a swirl of illusion
they gate sleep
i wonder further
across snow valleys
polar bears and velvet trunks
to fate some other prospects

all, but all,  is made up in my mind
Jun 2015 · 286
the dark side of mom
Jun 2015 · 742
Untitled
persefona Jun 2015
Polar bear chews on a dogs leg
a tall dark man- welcoming-  holds a large piece of ham
blizzard
then
avalanche
May 2015 · 468
a seemingly clear swamp
persefona May 2015
i can't.
either i feel too much or too little
angry waitress pushes me to plop weary
surfacing the icy water while teased by mustard sun's tangy tickles
past tingles too shortly
today i sink, somehow willingly

tiny flies of glee flicker at moments
too small and quick to be caught
then a sticky, sweet and **** fruit goes down the stream seducing the flies- they fed on the light
it is quiet
firemen follow the light
i make a solemn promise to myself to stay with myself

in here black mouth are just blackness
Apr 2015 · 390
today
persefona Apr 2015
if you find yourself on a day like this at midst of downtown area
when the sky and the clouds mould a murky web
where a gate opens, which seems to be detaining a different world
dry cement translucent light mirrors purple tulips standing alone
early strawberries in bulk are being sold next to inky leather gloves

if you find yourself escaping to freedom on sour pavements
roaring at the fast paste streets in search of solitude in questionable age barrels, drunk on wistful thinking
in a quest for a pill which makes you taller
you just might see an enticing group of rabbits and swallows
after which you can run skywards
drifting into an inconsistent yonder of freedom

floating. no direction.
smilingly passing by a green neon light
all you got are books
you greet each-other
picking small passages to jump through, never having to stand a trail off.
Apr 2015 · 889
animal golems
persefona Apr 2015
its a blur.
I enter the video club and so does my dog after me.
the whole ******* place has been screened by monumental steel animals equipped with cameras down to their *******. monkeys, giraffe, flamingo all ruled by a lemur.

the video club holds an exit.
they require some german skills which somehow i avoid. we drink some beers.
a rabbit whole- thats the way out of the video club
from digital to analog. they say a new system came but their cassettes keep them safe.
Apr 2015 · 587
oh yes
persefona Apr 2015
oh yes, i could be a stripper. someday
erotica in its sensual and seductive way, an exchange of energy currencies

no words.  
a distance just so fine.

a flower in dance.
Apr 2015 · 2.0k
swans and papaya
persefona Apr 2015
with half closed eyes, dry and prickly eye lid shuts
i can barely see the one who rambles in a classroom filled with chattering chickens.
so there i think of the swans by the lake, in switzerland, they were served strawberries, cranberries and oranges for dinner.
white heart shaped necks in flirtation and in-between twirls a strawberry orange smoothie. when i think of them, they seem unusually stunning, like never before.
a month later than when swans had their first strawberries I saw
they came to the markets here
several swan bite like packages
expensive as one crown swan can be

again in class.  
the same swans came to my mind. only half dead still chewing on pieces of papaya. it is sad.
the task was to think of something sad.
only they seem to have sat in the strawberry cranberry mush they have pawed while in heat of mating. they are turning pink.
to be a swan in switzerland
you would get more sensation and meaning
than to be existing in this so called class among headless chickens.
Apr 2015 · 638
marathon
persefona Apr 2015
he took her shirt off. she was in a mere disbelief of the sensation uprising.
they stood by the half-opened window inviting small rain drops onto their thirsting skin.
he had glistening blue eyes, high knees, long pounding fingers, a blueberry sweet breath.
soft tender nibble kisses, strokes of hands coming together and meandering like algae in the depths of blue saltness anticipating the rocks to be near.
clutches at moments are like hitting the cliffs covered in velvet moss
awaiting for *** to storm, leaving the skin wet and the soul magnetic.
this wonderful thing that he does, these fireworks on a bright day, sirens of edgy cars dictating the tempo, sensations like breaks of waves in the midst of a city.
Mar 2015 · 383
moon
persefona Mar 2015
Moon light, sea water shore exercise
chanting with feet high up on kneese
glassware dark-full blue sky
searching for balance
counting the white glitches
under the moon gleam
Mar 2015 · 765
gorila
persefona Mar 2015
Mermerna prostorija.
U njoj stojim u redu da platim clanarinu za biblioteku.
Ispred mene i iza mene nalaze se ljudi, bezlicni, u crnim odevnim kombinacijama. Reklo bi se dosli su na sopstvenu sahranu.

Dolazim na red- promena smene nastupa - naglim okretom ka salteru susrecem se sa gorilom osrednjeg rasta crne boje.
Ona se uplasila od mene! Uznemirena napusta radno mesto- cak uvredjena! zbog cega ne znam.
Koleginice je mole da vrati se na salter- a ja do tada samo znam kako sa psom- pa probam nesto od toga - shvatam da gorila sazvakace me.

Gorila se smirila nekako.
Ja sela da ucim.
Mar 2015 · 483
itch
persefona Mar 2015
I have an ich
from it my eyes twitch
a hole in my tongue stitch
to scratch each itch
into a dark pitch
where I will do a leg switch
a new head stitching
Mar 2015 · 531
Untitled
persefona Mar 2015
steady heart rate
dark eyed bee-wasp
muddy look over to the mountain slivers
a sleek lier- a block of butter
****** intentions
a clown cloak
the most beautiful boy
i have ever seen
woke me up with salt water splashes
Mar 2015 · 605
rose bush
persefona Mar 2015
Among avocado skin green flakes,
arranged in a grim graphite sky
underneath lay wet silky roots but filled with despair
Central to the field in retrospective they sing
purple red petals soar, no semblance they bear
Carnal soil parched for the raindrops
covert glancing passer-by
Mar 2015 · 400
cake
persefona Mar 2015
dim cheap street light
white frosting thick and rich spreads over grey green immersed side-walk
salty caramel glazed man dips his weight into cracking slabs, talking to himself.
blood red helmet- a bell jar on his head- a kind fellow on his mind. well there is a dog on the facing side- stares, murmurs and cries.
could a dog discern this man's pain over bright yellow peaks of snow, instinct driven sensations...
he is upset, i tell ya- leers and weeps.
all the other dogs they lick the frosting with their angry tongues, forgetfully tasting their own pink flesh. tasty obsessions.
this kind fellow cracks the frosted jar with cries of his kind.
Feb 2015 · 378
dim
persefona Feb 2015
dim
animals are dancing, curls jumping and soaking in sweat. run with me over these few meters, toss in some flamed matches, blows of wind, ah and oh. watch the shadows of sliver silver bodies.
Feb 2015 · 624
cold feet
persefona Feb 2015
we ate boiled vegetables for breakfast. there was no sunlight and my feet were so cold. that night i brought two tooth brushes, i was so bemused in the morning that i left both the blue and the orange one.
When seeing you again, I felt composed and you were beguiling.
i ll come back to your place again, i forgot the orange toothbrush.
Feb 2015 · 374
april
persefona Feb 2015
cans filled with air they sell
in that yellow place,
where when I wake up
you'll have your lunch\
and i will scratch my forehead several times
so i might get deep enough and understand why I can barely
imagine your presences, and the last time tongues intermingled and fingers danced was a whole moon away.
Feb 2015 · 581
simon
persefona Feb 2015
Simon felt a strong loathing for his words each time he remembered what he had said. In those moments of pure silence while the engine of his brain was fully recollecting all of those thoughts and words which he had said in an encounter before, he not only loathed the words but himself as well.
Meeting friends for Simon became odd moments in which he would take a glimpse of all that he wasn’t and all that he thought he was. Existence became a blur of negative thoughts, self-destruction and commiseration for self.
Although individualism in Simon had always been a growing bloom, it is bizarre how it seemed that all of it was buried by simple fears, which had let their clever roots. It had seemed as if, if possible at all, Simon was going through a stage of puberty all over again. He was too old for luxury of puberty as an excuse.
Chances and circumstances aligned to form a path, which had transformed this once strong-minded person into a pondering imbecile whose behaviour resembled of the one of a chameleon. He became aware of qualities in other people, which he thought he could acquire. Interestingly, many of these were characteristics, which were highly accepted by society or on the other hand were not in a traditional sense and seemed to be very popular.
It is obvious that Simon has no idea of who he is and what he does. Words from his mouth were not parallel with his reality. He spoke of plenty of things and ideas, however it started to sound as if he had memorised a text for which he thought was a golden mean of where he was in those moments.
Daily obsessions became related with his physical appearance, his impressions on others and nervous chaos in which he was living. Reflection on the other side was disappointing to him…
He needed to think, gather some constructive thoughts and think about all this. After all he was clever in a way. There had to be a way in which self-confidence could be built again.
Sometimes he felt as if he was to be in a play. As if his real life characteristics were to be transmitted into one of the characters. Who would he be? What would that person be like? Unfortunately he wasn’t able to answer. There was doubt with every depiction, all of it was uncertain to him.
Was he running away from who he really was, in order to built himself into someone he wants to be? This could easily turn into a vicious circle, of changing personalities often.
In order to come closer to understanding who Simon was, or who he seemed to be, it is vital to understand that at this moment Simon wasn’t able to recognise love at any form anymore. Fears and ideas of conspire multiplied like microscopic cells, it was a matter of seconds. The lightness of love, which so alluringly enriched his days as if each day was a life of its own, put in the most blunt way was eaten away.
Feb 2015 · 532
purdah
persefona Feb 2015
A zeppelin perches in my gut.
heavy air balloon bubbles up at the top
it is at its stop.
numbing.

the bottom atrium holds rushing footsteps- stubbornly colliding.
and before my closed eyes in the blackness of the mind-winded by the whitest of frost-white flower flash cards deal and conceal the emptiness of snip off eyes.
stinking flies lonely in their lives, barraged by their sticky snaggy wings
they draw sharp daggers, pinning sorrow on to my breath.
my mouth thirsty for salty blue water lies
hungry for the breath of another kind-
shadows of tuberoses on hot mornings
pipe dreams and pies in the sky
Feb 2015 · 2.0k
brat i sestra
persefona Feb 2015
brat i sestra

brat: cao

sestra: cao

brat: gde je tata?

sestra: u sobi.

brat: sta radi?

sestra: ma odkud znam, pusi.

brat pravi sendvice. pet sendvica. mleko i keks. malo cipsa sa strane.

brat ne zna nista. sestra zna po nesto.

brat se obraca psu: pa gde si ti bio ceo dan?jeli malisanu mali, milice jedna, jel si gladan? a sta si radio? hoces napolje? jao pa vidi te sapice, smrdo jedan.

ne izvodi psa.
brat jede. cuti.

brat ide na spavanje, vec je jako kasno. opranih zuba.

sestra vec spava. brat otvara vrata sestrine sobe naglo, namerno ili mozda slucajno ali ne i prvi put. gleda u mrak i osluskuje sestrino mumlanje i cangrizanje. cuti. zatvara vrata i odlazi u svoj mrak, prekoputa.

jutro je.
brat: cao

sestra: cao

brat: gde je tata?
Feb 2015 · 1.4k
smrt jednog dana
persefona Feb 2015
mila sedi na wc solji. prebira dlacice po brezuljku. nekako odvratno ali radoznalo trazi one pod zemljom
gusto groblje-guste misli:

dve prodavacice prodaju sok od sargarepe, na smenu- jedan dan jednoj plati jednu cenu drugi dan drugoj drugu. cuti. zakopa to u zeludac. guta vazduh namazan budalom. cuti. plati.  popije samar i sok.
na ulici razmazano oker govno, kao kanapei na srebrnom tanjiru.  
preskace, obilazi ga ona. preskace, obilazi ga i pas. kisa pada, oker krem gubi gustinu, pas nece pod kisobran juri senke i zapisava skupocene alo tepsije onih kojih se i pauk plasi.
zanoktica o vrh narandzastog jezika- rekapitulacija popisanosti i pogresno usmerene finoce. krv stedljivo iz nokta curi natapajuci nepce a mrmlja da sledeci put ce...
ali verovatno nece. jer ne razume tu gadnu nepravicnost. jer to je samo princip. mozda i hoce. jer princip je i sve.
dopire krik playback narodnjaka- komsija stigao sa posla, investitor umesto izloacije sigurno je kupio dzipa.
masina se centrifugom lansira u orbitu svake sekunde- privezala bi se za nju toaltet papirom....

aman, idi uci.
bolje ces se osecati.
kraj prozora cuje se ono dete sto svira trubu.
makar jos ne moras da trazis posao. eto imas vremena da smislis sta zelis da budes.
na kraju krajeva nemas urasle dlake. i da, auto ti je parkiran divlje pokupice ga pauk sigurno. i nemas dozvolu. kese za govna su u gepeku.
trebas psa izvesti.
sutra kupices sok od sargarepe, po ne zna se kojoj ceni.

rekla bi imas princip a i lenja si.

— The End —