I'm not afraid of death
She's scared of me
And people like me who embrace her ever so senselessly.
I'm not afraid of death.
Since we created the concept.
Imbued the notion of a tragic end with a lachrymal consequence.
The idea of death was built with fear written on headstones and synagogues.
Achieved through the exposition of conflicts and wars.
How am I to know that death isn't peaceful?
Painless or not, I am not afraid of death.
For its vague appearance brings itself closer to what makes us human.
For its vigil and oneirical existence is simple and over judged.
I am not afraid of death.
Death is afraid of the people who have yet to see her.

My mommy saw death today again,
She sat on the stairs, ciggarete in hand and spewed away,
How her mornings were **** and her cigs don't really hit today.
So I knew it was serious and put on my concerned face, the one she only loves anyway, and I told her not to dismay.
And as I pick at my skin and other ***** insufferences I listen as her voice forces, a sadness as to alarm me this may be concerning.
She says that on her way to work this morning she saw a little old lady in a crane,
This little old lady tripped on straight surface, hit her head so hard, a haematoma bloomed in her brain.
And mom blows the smoke again.
"I heard the sound and the pain in my leg did not matter" she said. "I ran so fast, I was so worried that little old lady cannot die on me".
So she ran and the woman was bleeding, "her mask so ****** she could've choked" as she confirmed, "many passed by as I was trying to lift this lady but none bothered to care"
She said that at once a biker dropped his bike and jumped in to help as they called the ambulance in despair.
Mommy said she asked the lady her name, age and a kid she could contact.
Little old lady was 83 and remembered her boy's number fully.
And so my mommy calls to tell him that his mom's at the emergency and he picked up and said:
"Has a car hit her yet? "

I wanna live my young years
Screaming at people across the terminals,
Waking up in train stations
Loving to live among others.
I wanna live in the romanticism of the teenage years.
I wanna get wasted with strangers
And sing on the boulevards.
What the **** kind of good girl am I?
What the **** kind of intimidating hypocrite am I?
What the ****?
Time is passing by me while I watch it from my top bunk
From my bathtub
From my phone camera.
Only if I could say I ate my years like the other kids,
"I smoked my years away" or "drugs ate at my sanity"
No.
It's just the glamour veil.
I watched my years
I didn't eat or smoke them.
I stood by and watched them fly and now I feel old.

eating the inside of my lip
and uncovering my back in the moonlight.
I walk the streets nonchalantly.
No hearing.
Just sight.
And taste, the taste of the inside of my lip bleeding.
I was raised to be just and to keep my eyes on the sole thing that interests me.
Meaning everything.
So it's all I do.
I sit and stare unwillingly.
Keeping track of the eyes that read me and the ones that are just passing by.
Considering.
I'm built around the social construct of being lonely.
But not really.
I'm losing the fancy words I used to fight for just like I'm losing myself.
As I leave more me on my bed than anywhere else.
I shaved today to feel a hint of self interest.
It was completely useless.
I couldn't give a **** about myself with hair or without but that's just too much to confess.
I've been trying to sing more and dance and give into the so called creativity I harness.
It's all a lie.
It's all a distraction.
It's something I want to call motivation but can't.
Am i meant to rot in the lifestyle of a movie miserable human?
Walking the streets and spazzing on my bed.
With my dreams swept out of my head.
I look in three separate mirrors everyday.
Who am I and why am I not dead?
And that's the million dollar question.
Because somehow the moment everything collapses we turn to the forbidden.
But either way I digress I'd be too afraid to do it to myself.
I've found billion other methods that make me feel that they match the situation.
**** this poem.
It's another excuse for my insomnia.
Another excuse to justify why I woke up at 11 just to fall onto another bed.
All the memories I've collected, play me such a theatre show,
And I watch wondering if they're the dream from last night or real life.
And it makes me question again.
Who am I and why am I not dead?
Not because I wanna die necessarily but because at times I'm rather lucky.
Like the universe repays me.
Like the universe cried a single tear of mercy and out of all the people it rained on me.
And it still seems like I'm ungrateful.
The universe is mistaking my head for someone else who maybe instead would know how to use that luck efficiently.
I am no such mastermind.
I've lost my book based intelligence when I was 11 and gained my eyes when I was 13.
Ironically.
So who am I and why am I not dead?
Living a paradox withing irony itself,
I'm handmade by multiple clichés.
Or that's what I think.
My dreams seemed nice until people tell me they're just a fantasy.
Oh but look at me, 16 and complaining about dreams.
I'd end up a great housekeeper I'd tell myself though nothing stays clean.
I feel old.
Old in a way I've never felt.
Like by the time I'd reach 30 I'd already be dead.
Or maybe again,
Is it all on my head?
Adolescent scent in the times of complete desolation.
I stand and I don't understand.
Who am I and why am I not dead?

At 23:28
Is the last bus running
I feel the cold around me,
But Ive no time to hate.
The weather is splendid,
The streets flooded,
The bass booming,
The rain pouring,
I'm dumbfounded.
Why did I leave the concert so early?
I'm paranoid, I'm going.
Taking the bus hoping it'll take me home
And if it doesn't I'll walk I've no shame of my own.
I did walk at the end anyway,
Ankle deep in water while others were hiding
I'd call myself stupid if it wasn't so extraordinary,
Drenched to the bone, the rain so hereditary.
I was singing along then I was running.
Home if I find it, alone while the wind is blowing.
It was the prime act and for the first time I wasn't playing,
The antagonist,
The villain,
The hated,
The worst,
The ghost.
I was simply alive.
The water in my hair,
The razor sharp wind on my cold skin,
My ciggaretes destroyed and drowning in my pocket.
There was nothing that could stop me,
From finally living.

You know taking a bath when you're cold is bad for you yet you still do it.
The cold will catch up to you once you're out.
Unless you boil yourself to the point where you can't stand the bath water and the cold is all you crave.
Liar liar liar liar liar liar liar liar liar liar liar.
You know this anger harbouring will get you sick and at some point something will have to break.
Yet you deny it and cry in surprise once you realise how ****** up your mind can get.
Liar liar liar liar liar liar liar liar liar liar.
You know that you not functioning without your headphones on the street is a mental deficit and you're scared of being alone.
Yet whenever you say you'll go out without your headphones you can't help but connect them again to your phone.
Liar liar liar liar liar liar liar liar liar liar liar.
You know the silencing glare and the subtly swallowed hate wont be enough to fix them or you yet you take no action and only speak when the times are worst causing everything to crack up again in your dysfunctional household.
Liar liar liar liar liar liar liar liar liar.
No amount of self diagnosis with narcissism, psychosis, psychopathy or plain depression will ever soothe your need of validation. So why bother.
Liar liar liar liar liar liar liar liar liar liar.
Your body's stiff, you know the causes.
Yet you try to dance, sing move as much as you can. Idiotic sensual slow killing.
You know you're only making it worse so why keep on hurting?
Liar liar liar liar liar liar liar liar.
Your blood vessels bursting under your jeans, your veins dying to pop.
Yet you still walk. There's something not quite right with you.
Liar liar liar liar liar liar liar liar
Your ribs cracking under the spring sun, your toes bleeding from that last run when will you understand you're marked for death when will you be done?
Liar liat liar liar liar liar liar liar liar.
You promised you'll shave your arms, start up another life yet you're still here.
******* around.
You're nothing but a
Liar liar liar liar liar liar liar liar liar liar liar.

Luna își arata fața întoarsă
Eu aștept primăvara roasă
De crude adevăruri și ochi întredeschişi.
Mi-am spus că-ți voi da 2 săptămâni să miști,
Că până pe 14 februarie îmi voi recupera afecțiunea efemeră și mirosul distins
Care mă adormea atât de violent.
Mama făcuse deja pariuri că ne distrugem,
E vina mea, am avut prea multă încredere în mine sincer.
Rupe-mă de realitate, nu eram prea trează înainte
Să scânteieze cerul a regrete vorbite,
Împielițând vântul ăsta crud.
Căci oricât de mult aș spera la primăvară, el tot bate și eu rămân...
Înfrigurată de furie înlocuind o fire,
Impertinentă oricum.
Am avut dreptate bilateral,
Nu ne-am putut păstra.
Am și vrut asta.
*** era să trăim orice altceva decât o altă banală suferință?
*** era să avem speranță?
Devastator probabil,
Strigător la cer!
Pune-mi la loc mâinile care au rămas pironite undeva la tine în creier căci doresc amar să mă trezesc  vie.

i feel like air
    - unnoticed-
    but
    -vital-
     cold and warm
no color
   (inhale)
   (exhale)
  forever

*** s-au dus iar zile peste mine și eu le-am vândut pe nimic sperând la libertate și n-am primit nici măcar dreptul de a dormi.
*** m-au călcat orele în picioare râzând de visele mele anticipative.
M-am săturat de zile și nopți placebo
De batjocura lumii când vreau doar să râd.
M-am săturat de semi-singuratate,
Și de fiecare gând.
M-am saturat de tine,
Tu cel din oglindă, că plângi doar când nu ți se cuvine și râzi fără inimă.
Sper să nu-ți mai plângi sănătatea că nu are să se întoarcă,
Căci camera ți-e goală și tu tot aici ai rămas,
Tu râs fără spațiu de ecou
Raza de soare în crepuscul,
Nu-ți mai număra zile pentru un erou,
Și șterge-ți rujul.
M-am săturat de tine,
Tu cel din oglindă, căci tu nu vei fi eu vreodată iar eu nu voi fi tu.
Așa că refuzând să plâng, iubire, îți aștept sfârșitul.
Murdar om mai ești,
Păcătos din natură.
Sper să nu mai grăiești, sper să te arzi cu propria-ți ură.

I fantasise about being stapled to the walls of every house I've ever been in
To be glorified iconography
So Jesus crucified could never compare to me.
But I digress and ignore my fantasy
Dig deeper in my denied anxieties
Or at least that how I've been feeling
Taught to believe what my father always told me
"Qui ante dolem plus dolem" scarring my skin.
Reads as follows straight to the core:
"Who suffers before will suffer a lot more"
You see I think that to some I've been just a blur while to others I've been pure life.
I think I'm just a field study for my paternal figure
Too much of a cynical creature too little to inspire.
He thinks he can cheat life by cheating himself but it's all dire
Amy Winehouse knows best she even sang about cheating herself, it's nothing but piling lies onto the fire.
So my father smiles and says I search for disaster, search for situations, imagine doom charging at me faster and faster and faster...
But I interrupt him, I'm rational.
I go in with low expectation so if it turns out for the best I can truly enjoy the consolation and if it turns to be the way I imagined it I can lavish in the universe's approbation.
I say I despise his way of living,
He asks what is there to hate in it.
And i am baffled and injurious behaviour is sparking,
Staggering, stuttering I simply ask how is that he can live so falsely happy so easily, how is it not torturous for further developing.
He says nothing is false, it's all hoping, it's ignoring stress, it's living authentically.
And I think to myself dissapointedly
If only
I was bolted in these walls and didn't have to live, judge or decide.
Just watching cemented in time.

I guess the way my hand floats in this light is romantic to my eyes
The way my father seems to want to share his life but never gets to is always on my mind.
This morning he told me that as he was staying with his dying dad, he'd said something at the time my father thought was sickly senile words on a deathbed:
"Son at least I was born to peace and will die in peace, I'm afraid that won't be the case for you"
my father repeats with his hands-sliding lower on the wheel,
He's driving me to school on a Friday and I have to ask myself,what does he feel.
Fear for his kids?
Worry for the land his mother and my mother painted when we were born?
Now as he's hanging clothes outside my room I can see his shadow through the window, I too...
Worry that me and my sister will be kids of war,
That my mother and father won't get to see the world alight unless it's a nuclear fight,
That I won't get life just like many more haven't still I
Watch this hand of mine wander and float through light, caressing the veins day and night, caressing veins keeping me alive - accepting what might
Be mere months until we die, be just another thousand lives lost with no guilt for the world to thrive, just a daily sight.
Dad told me he used to think he could change the world and, learnt as I will too, that the only thing I can change is myself.
He's said this throughout my life like a laitmotif to our existence-
Sometimes I think he would suffer less if he'd just accept sufferance.
I tell him I think I no longer want to change the world, I'd rather watch as it's changing and pray I could teach our poems to the stars and they'll send and teach me theirs.
He congratulates me.
It's so rare that I get to see him so human, this is why I grew up so damaged but I still admire it.
When I see my dad I see a crackle of amber filled by a water droplet falling off a soft sage leaf,
It is the heaviest of suffering sometimes when I listen to him.
He is everything I thought I wished and would never want to be.
There's something I found so wise in him, I hope it isn't just his denial of suffering, something among his stories something in his words I hope it stays with me.

lips embered
sizzling awaitance
where are you when i seek to soothe
ache
?
skin splintered
time speaks to me incredulous
i quiver
do you want to watch
?
this lustrous mist
this autumnal whisper
i transpose it on my body.
tighs a thundering wind gust, back arched to catch the rain.
it hurts when im not my own, it hurts when  no-one can hold
this pulverised alienation.
trade me some patience.
you would,
wouldn't you
?
this world does not exist beyond our conscious perception
lay your head down onto this wishbone heart, onto this carbonised solar plexus.
don't you crave this silence?
don't you?

_
De mi-ai dezpletii coastele.
S-au încâlcit și mi-au luat tot aerul cu ele.
Ți-aș recita idile
Mai calde ca  visele mele.
Mă strâng oasele.
Eu ard și ele țin scrumul în mine.
Ce deranj al magiei,
Îmi tresar nervii și arterele *** le convine.
Ce sunt eu pentru tine?
O fericire trecătoare, o intrigă complexă, o altă gură nepăsătoare.
Aş cere mult prea mare oroare,
Timpul tău pentru guri temporare
Viața ta pentru o întâmplare.
Ochii tăi păstrați în a mea chemare.
Ți-am spus fără corp și fără teamă că ești violoncel
În vise ți-aș vorbii astfel, fără remușcare.
Iar câinele din mine se scutură de ură
M-aș arunca în iad să văd un alt zâmbet
O altă sclipire mai pură, un alt miracol corpolent.
Aş vrea să-mi vezi ființa necoruptă
Să-ți arăt că real am respirat și eu.
Dar condiția blestemată
Îmi ştirbeşte plămânii de aer, îmi face moartea țelul.
Eu.
Eu nu aș știi *** să te iubesc.

I am watching the grass grow
He said as his eyes turn yellow.
Fog and rain levitate around
Twirling and singing with no sound.
He shuts them up
Liquid thunder
I can't fall in the gap
Being able to breathe never seemed harder.
But crimson orchids grow out of desperation
Spreading their roots over hopes and dreams
In a game of decapitation
The headless boy wins.
And he dances on silent waters
Surrounded by velvet curtains
Broken everywhere by every flower
That told him love hurts.
But water still flows
And my orchids still grow
The liquid thunder stays in
And surrenders to the storm within.

Virginia was right!
I want to be a poet,
I want to be a lover.
But most importantly...
I wish to be poetry,
İ wish to be loved.

I sometimes wonder if I can compare feelings.
Can I compare the power of when you find a song you love and dance to it 'till the sweat reaches your eyes to the power of the sadness when something you so much loved, dissappears and tears streak down your already glass rose cheeks?
Can I compare the pureness of a laugh to the pureness of a sigh?
Can I compare the "letting yourself be a little selfish" of being proud of yourself to "letting yourself be a little selfish" of letting yourself cry for no reason at all?
Can I compare the surprising relief of the moment right after I finish a poem to the surprising scare of the moment I caress my head just to see a handful of hair fall out?
Can I compare the strength of love to the strength of hate?
I think i can

burgundy, white and
burgundy, white and violet
irises have sprung so i can steal them
rupture this temperature increase and fall in
eardrum ripping sleep.
the beauty
has returned and i may weep
for time to reap.
my head just another hole to ****,
my mouth just another eclipsed month
irises in May can only last
long enough that I may not keep
track.
unclutch, disobey and swallow the lack
of life where there is almost too much to live.
give it to the irises, they die quick.

ochii mei, o graniță
o frontieră de nepăşit.
oasele ce-i țin încapsulați ies afară
proeminența lor a ispășit,
sentința unui orb,neintenționat.
ce n-am văzut sare să muște,
acum ochii zvâcnesc sub pleoape închise.
ochii mei sunt viața ce am devorat.
te văd și când dorm simt *** am învolburat
marea ce mi-o port în vene.
te văd în amintiri în care nu exiști, încep să-mi propun dileme.
că ai fi existat din totdeauna,
că undeva, prinsă-n retină, te-am ținut în amar întuneric și dulce lumină.
când irisul migrează sub pleoapă, în vis
e un semn că încă exiști,
că în mine încă este destulă viață, că iubesc și am iubit.
ochii mei, un pact cu actul de a trăi
o simplă strângere de mână, nimic mai mult
de văd sau nu, respir nimic mai puțin.
ochii mei ofranda unei venerări veșnice a unui Dumnezeu ce încă se ascunde de mine.

My tears are cold tonight just like the rain
I've lost hope just like the clouds lose their temper.
And as the water from the sky pours itself off my house through the drain.
I **** my only helper.

My tears are cold tonight like the sea under the moon
My tears were brewed by my memories to be used for what will come soon.

My tears are cold tonight unlike the usual when they're always warm and calming.
My tears are cold tonight so maybe I'll be frozen when I need to wake up in the morning.

My tears are cold tonight under my roof.
My tears are cold tonight and I have no proof.
My tears are cold and I keep on fighting,
Desperately warming myself up as I watch the lighting.

And my tears are cold tonight
But I no longer put up a fight

Crystallise my hair, my skin, my lips
Let me float, let me drift
The water's color don't matter as long as the sky's blue
My mindset's fine without thinking about anyone
There's no you
There's no me either
It's just the water and the crystals that formed all over me
With this thin shinny rock layer, I can finally see
And I see the world faceted, cut in every place
It never faded, there's a crystal on everyone's face.
Everyone has a face for me and another face for someone else
How long will it take until we can crystallise sense?
They seem to all have a crystal in their mind
But I have one on my skin, my hair and my lips
My thoughts can finally all collide
My hopes can all sink.
Let this crystallise every part of me
Maybe someday I'll be free.

i
give
up




~am i too strong to die or too weak to live? ~

Delirant, înrăit,
Sticlete răstignit.
Pe un vârf de gard clementin.
Vorbește-mi de dureri de suflet.
Ale inimii frânte dulci scobituri.
Vorbește-mi de vise curmate,
Ale vieții calme zguduituri.
Lumea alunecă, eu mă împiedic de
Compot de inimă rămas pentru o iarnă fără sfârșit.
Rămân eu în liniște.
Pun zahar într-o tăietură
Viitorul este strălucit sunt doar rea de gură.
Un vârf de şold vânăt
Cerul gurii o gulie
Bătută de grindină, amăruie.
Un cot, un călcâi, un om nătâng, un simplu cui.
Cablu fumegă furie, roşu prăfuit pe covor
Mă vrea să urlu de ciudă, de nervi, de dor.
Mă vrea pe margine de macara ori 9 metri sub pământ.
Timpul trece tot mai rece,
Tot ce *** să fac e să-i mănânc urmele.
Două mâini goale în zăpadă, nu tu mănuși nu tu buzunare,
Frig făcut ardoare
Pentru o stea căzătoare, pentru o viață nepăsătoare.

I woke up I thought
I woke up I thought it was summer
The foil veiling my window making me think the sun's brighter.
What a ******!
A few hours later I go downstairs in the kitchen, fooled that to be rid of anxienty all I have to do is work harder.
And I did up until my mother,
Made my shoulders shudder
Only if the silence lasted a little longer.
It didn't so I tell her about a friend that's been way too friendly  and how I have other priorities.
A girl maybe, I told her, now, she's about to ruin it.
She breathes in: so heavy, one hand next to the stove and one by her hip she tells me.
"stop and take a look at yourself"
Talks to me about the risk of showing myself to such a girl,
Asks if I'd want the aftermath on my conscience forever.
"Ignore her" , she whispers, "let's talk about you!"
"You find people you think are interesting,then dissect them to their last molecule, get what you need, then leave them - desolated, confused, searching for anyone to replace you."
She said I damage them so good they'll never not see me in the people they're searching," no-one will ever be you again"
She backtracks-"don't target this girl, you know what you do, don't be selfish and give her hollow promises."
Cruel of me to want to feel something, cruel of me to want to nurture my loveless mind after years of starving.
Not my right she says, to waste people's time, "you're killing".
I'm shaking but I'm loving it she tells me exactly what I've been dreaming!
That I'm a sociopath, the most attractive sin.
She scoffs and says she'll try to be to my understanding, and slips into some analogy
" unlike others nowadays - pretty cover books with nothing inside, you're a hybrid, you're a blank cover-- let others color it, make them think they have a choice and validity before they start reading."
Accaparating, dense, manipulator, heart-eating.
I hope she's proud of me
I hope my paternal lack of empathy is showing
I hope it's obvious that my talents are natural, hereditary
There are very few instances when it's not them I'm blaming.
But I halt to a stop and ponder what is it that I'm craving,
Because whatever it is, I always aquire then never use it.
My mother sings about my graciously selfish bendings.
I thought the impression of the sun glowing in the final moments of November was a sign for better,
A sign that I will no longer
Live in phases, forget myself along the linings, writhe away like warmth amongst the wind.
So many words have been said, I no longer know if it is me that is living.

promised I'll get drunk
settled for getting distracted.
sunk down the floor,wanted the alcohol minus the vomiting.
but eyes shine around me so I become less
vigilant...more  human...
a cure for broken shoulders.
your mouth smells like home I'm feeling better.
bickering in and out of the odour of cracked mandarin peels and ***** shots poured in drunken fever.
impersonate each other see who ***** up better,
put a *** out for the table
hide it from the lover.
just some hiccups to get over.
go outside-skin bare
check the pebbled floor make sure you don't trip and bury yourself there,
gotta flip the pack, take out the vanilla cigarrete,
one for you, then for me.
you'll finish in one minute, I'll finish in thirty...
seconds-until I melt on this chair cuz I remembered I was left alone on my birthday and there was no pack of 'friends' to throw me in the air.
so sudden though I'm sure it'll evaporate.
open the fridge, grab a cube of ice, smash it with my molars hoping it'll get me back to:
dancing minimally and laughing more then I should be,
indulging in things I otherwise,wouldn't be doing ,
letting the me from tommorow handle present me fooling.
eyes have been wider now they simmer at the surface only for your hand to rest on my leg,
like a dog,
like a frozen sociopath.
laugh again, crack a joke for the years I won't get back.
I touch,reveriee,then hollow out
so many thoughts I'm fighting the urge to lack sense and halt myself,into some other place.
hell perhaps,bed most certainly.
fun doesn't last much when lonely but it lasted enough for me.
I loved it.
I'll go to sleep.
whiskey antiseptic I'm coating my teeth with anything but it,wishing it would take me to the morning