Friday, 14 July 2017

Halves of the same Soul

From half of me pours half of you, 
It's the touching of souls 
that it's said to be love, 
Even when you thought you had no soul anymore. 
The messy worlds inside us

cannot contain the strenght of our soul. 
It's the sky and the ocean that are halves of the same blue world. 

Tuesday, 11 July 2017

Mirror, mirror, can you see?


The confirmation that gladly everyone is better without you;
The explanation that you rather know they're happy;
The comprehension of how finite every gaze is;
The fascination with every facial line of every person you've seen;
The extension of your heart being so infinite that you still love everyone you've ever loved. 

Can you find, in the mirror, me?
They saw me as contaminated 
Tarnished by blood and soul
Dipped in tragic inconvenient woes
Too sensitive and too honest
Too candid and too earnest 

Nobody likes wounded people
Thrown into mud by a stormy life
Everyone wants to forget sadness 
And be with the ones who smile

Though the distraught and downtrodden 
are the ones who are torn and abandoned 
And who definitely need support 
Everyone just cuts them off
Like if they had a contagious disease 

They can't stand a truly open heart
Because they're all emotionally rotten
And they're unable to just love and care

Like it's the only thing that matters

Monday, 3 July 2017

"There are many ways of dying. The worst of them is to continue living." - in 'This must be the place'

Saturday, 1 July 2017

Bad blood and a broken heart 
assured she could never have happiness 

Wednesday, 28 June 2017

Happiness is made of rainbow memories and then with time one of three things might happen: they turn grey, or black, or white.

Wednesday, 21 June 2017

What am I doing? Just writing words to fit the feelings that need to get expressed.
  • she had a heart with a hole of the size of texas and a mind packed like the streets on rush 
hour

Saturday, 17 June 2017

08.06.2017

Only a great poet knows that the word serenity goes with sad, and bliss with exquisite.
Do you think that no word stands alone and all words need other words? And that there's a true democracy between words for they all mingle, from the more royal to the more common?
Do you also insist that words are bound to their meaning?
Well, I'm not into all that: I believe a word stands for itself, no concept or meaning tied up into it. Once a neologist, always a neologist.