Narration adds more suspense into                                                                        Those words I write every time ...                                                                            A narrator who narrates all those events                                                                Happened in a novel , in a tale ,or in a short story ...                                            A narrative method is that way                                                                               In which I go to my characters and                                                                        Into my readers at the same time ....                                                                      The third person narrator is my approach or                                                         Our approach to the whole world globally ...

And the cold just lingers through my spine paralyzing me within the air escaping my mouth
I stare out to the dark where smoke from under my feet billows and curls like a snake
There is no silence but sirens and discontent
Why do I have to try harder?
I don’t care if I’m included just to be known

Clenching my teeth to a crater maybe I have just grown bitter
why do my eyes glow red whenever I inhale you?
Mangiato come una balena
ate so much like a whale
my belly swelled before my nose sneezed and it all out

las calles me conocen
a las almas que mi cortan
no se donde estar y a tus ojos no siga a matar
but what do I do when I see your favorite star?


He’ll never forgive me for cutting him off his favorite t-shirt
How many hours can I get the shreds together
Spinning webs and worn out weaves
And lost words in thesaurus or printed on a magazine
but I should decide the fabric of the world rests on all of us and we still can’t sleep from the senses you’ve created

He burnt the bed sheets. Finally.
His shoes
Smelt of marital blood
Afterwards.
On days like these,
He enjoys catching dust in his hands,
Likes to compare the flecks to the
Cuts on his palms
Until he can’t see the difference
Anymore.

Shrieks come from the tub,
Voltage pushing his legs to jump.
Now he watches the bath
Rumble the house with its tears

Plump.
          Plump.
                    Plump.

Rain covers tormented streets;
He too feels he must erupt from the sky.

Plump.
          Plump.
                    Plump.

A window
Replays the chaos of the world
From ten stories high.

Plump.

a story about eye contact


The look in his eyes reminded me of the fall; they pleaded of death with the misty admiration of life.
Slowly intoxicating green veins to shades of orange like a drug, making my spine and my lungs go numb all at once in a single glare.
He turned swiftly and broke my focus. Suddenly the noise of the fast moving crowd and passing trains disappeared in a soft hum. Everything became still, and I escaped into the eyes of a stranger that I felt I had known for a millennium. I held my breath as if something profound were to happen, As if the danty grey of his complexion would suddenly dust off and expose bits of his soul. I sneezed.


Bless you.

“Thanks” I said.

And then we started again. Weighing out moments on our hands waiting for the next break. In a moment, we passed soundlessly through a fresco of laminate dreams silently, coated by a serene sadness and a well-timed sneeze. It felt like hours until my stop would reach on the subway, an eternity with his eyes second by second meeting mine with no expression.


Now arriving at 6th Avenue Station. 6th Avenue Station.*

And in the next moment, one of us blinked; the moment passed, and we returned to being complete strangers.



p.m