When I was 2 years old.
I did not know true pain,
I did not know true fear.
My life was full of rainbows.
When I was 2 years old-
My innocence was my beauty.
Years went by;
I was now 8 years old.
I knew pain,
I knew fear
The rainbows in my life no longer there.
The rainbows replaced with storms;
Storms of violence, of pain and fear.
My perseverance was my beauty.
6 more years pass,
I was 14.
Full of pain.
Full of fear.
I was scared of life.
My beauty was gone.
Now 3 years later...
I still know pain,
I still know fear.
But things have changed.
The rainbows look down on me once again.
The pain - still there, but less prominent.
The fear, following me - but no longer dominant.
So, now at 17.
I live, I understand and I love.
When I was 2 years old my beauty was my-
Innocence.
When I was 8 years old my beauty was my-
Perseverance.
When I was 14 years old my beauty was gone.
My beauty no longer missing.
It is no longer hidden.
My beauty has arisen.
My beauty, now...
At 17 years old.
My beauty now is;
My 17 years of pain,
My 17 years of fear,
My 17 years of experiences,
My beauty is me.
I am my beauty.

Years since acquaintances,
Months since 'You and I',
Fortnights since 'We',
Weeks since  "I love you's"
Days since separation,
Hours since your 'Goodbye',
Minutes since tears,

Not even a second since you.

They say that scale can break the laws of science
A crime so high in magnitude
Yet they cannot police
This bully that reality turns out to be

We met by means of tunneling improbabilities
The kiss of a miracle
Punishing the God complex
Of the self-righteous
Because the real laws, unknowable,
Dwell in realms higher than dogmatic notion
Whose knowledge is the surface of an ocean

Hence judgement cannot be
Wrought by the swimmers
And their fear of mortality
That guides them through the waves
And so their laws are the transgression

And We
Are the justice of the storm

When hell freezes over

And i can’t feel the cracks in the walls
I’m not sure anymore
“These times are the worst times”
And what comes after

What if i don’t want to know
Why do babies die
When they’ve never done anything
The most innocent
This earth will ever feel
Is when it’s reclaiming
The porcelain faces
With eyes closed

Maybe it’s because
The longer we spend waiting
Like opening windows
When it’s supposed to rain
“It gets worse before it gets better”

But there is no contest
It’s just comparison
Plath wrote a novel
About how hard it is to die
Your body doesn’t want to

But your soul can’t sleep anymore
You are tired
From bouncing off the padded walls
Inside your skull
So much it feels like
Your own thoughts have bruises
Concussions within concussions
It hurts to think
The engine doesn’t start

And every day i try to sleep
Except
I’m still awake
Because it doesn’t matter anymore

We spend our time
Waiting out the storm
(Even when it’s in the windows)
Waiting for the sunshine
But all it means is
The storm will ruin everything

And no amount of sunlight
No kisses
No daisies
Will ever make the floorboards dry up
Will fix the ruined wallpaper
No open windows
Will air out this house

Everything settles
Like dust on the mantel
The floorboards pop
Like the elbows of tree branches
Bucking together,
Shivering in winter
The house is restless
But too old to move
Too tired
Too heavy

And so am i.
There’s still something in it
Us
We
And still so empty at the same time.

If the room is vacant
Is it still a room
Or is it a tomb
That’s been desecrated
Put it back the way it was meant to be,
Full inhabitants
The dead haunting both places.

Because i am fearless
To be honest
When you don’t feel
I am plastic and
Tattered rugs in the hallway
I am
Cigarette smoke stains
Nicotine yellow and
Placid green
rotting from the inside out
Like a cavity
You’ve always been too poor to fix
Yet... not an ache like that
Too easy to ignore
And when it’s past the point
It falls out, and life goes on

No

I am a wildfire
Burning everything alive
And too big to put out
Everyone can see it
Everyone’s afraid
The very smoke from my own destruction
Is killing the skies
Suffocating on top of the heat
Like a hurricane, hotter
A god of fifty thousand degrees

And yet... they see it coming
All they can do is
Hope i burn myself out
And don’t take their lives too

And there’s nothing
No open windows
No kisses
No daisies

Can do about it

We met in a beautiful way,
But we didn't know that we're both cursed.

There's many things I wanted to say,
But the Separation came first.

At the beginning of the journey - Me,
At the very end - You.

We're both stuck, don't you see,
Our shadows are lurking, that's true.

So, pushing ourselves away,
We're both losing each other.

I will trust the Universe,
To break the Curse from one another.

"hell yeah?" the burglar asked the pusher.

(the burglar: wirily, ambitious. plain appearance, dressed in black.
the pusher: wealthy, strong and well-conditioned. sumptuous leather jacket.)

"hell yeah", the pusher answered. "now i got what i like and you got what you need."

both grinned. after a day of extensive work, they relaxed in a hellish pub. it was visited by diplomatic creatures whose faces were recognizable like shadows.
this pub was called babylon 8.

the burglar and the pusher touched glasses to celebrate their deal. they drank.

"nothing to be written down",
the pusher added. burglar nodded. voices of the diplomatic creatures surrounding them; satanic sighs; bold laughter; their sentences sounded like orders that are dictated by judges.
  
snakes and rats. gravelpitbulls and red cats. creatures with excellent memory. guys who swallow their plans after they had learned them by heart.

a while later, a lady entered the pub: adorable like a man's fantasy; imitable like a woman's strategy. her hair color was your desire; her skin color the color of your dreams.
her name was fantasy girl.

suddenly, the lights went out; suddenly, a lightblue sun illuminated the room. no one noticed. everyone so busy hiding something that nothing was hid.
the creatures of babylon 8 therefore didn't perceive the light.

fantasy girl ordered a drink. she told the bartender: "i need freedom. that's what i want from you, the people of babylon 8."

the bartender a giant with a face full of shining scars; his right ear missing; flashy shirt; an ancient first name; speaker of all world languages combined: the omerta.

fantasy girl took a sip from a silver brew which had been served to her by the bartender. she took out a single match and there was no box; a long cigarette between her unknown lips.

bartender looked at fantasy girl. without saying a word, he turned his stubble cheek into her direction. fantasy girl lighted the match.
lightblue fire. inhaling. smoke. iceblue cloud.

the burglar and the pusher had been looking at fantasy girl all the time.
fantasy girl held a white fountain pen and took a black sheet out of a green handbag. she began to write.

righteousness
care
siblings

mom
dad
son
wife

eden

our car is burning and there is nobody
to drive it
our car is going in circles


8