Familiar clues

I don't even know where to begin...Well,first of all,I'm home,which is always a good thing.Nice food,pleasant company,fluffy cats and most comforting scenery-can't I just stay here forever and ever and ever?Please,please,pretty please?I even feel smarter too!Can't understand why,but the "big city" isn't helping my intelligence/confidence marriage at all!Don't get me wrong,my family isn't from the Stone Age,on the contrary-it's just that I feel...intimidated?Yes,intimidated is the perfect word.All those brains and all those lips,I just can't compete with that-so I sit quietly and wallow in my own misery.Clever,aren't I?

My deduction skills are improving,though.It's understandable,considering I awkwardly walk and eat and talk to myself most of the time.It gives you a sort of dark power that surpasses knowledge,something you can sink your tired teeth into.Downside?The more I see,the more it hurts.Craving flaws in others only unravels my own blatant imperfection.And how much more can my cocoon last?Not pretty much,I can assure you.Oh,well...

I love wine.I really do.I mean,it makes everything better.And seemingly safer.And downright exquisite,damn it!Who cares about homework and the future anymore?Let's just dwell in an intoxicated state of mind,shall we?Everything would be better.And easier.And less frightening...Warm feet and pleased ears,do you agree?Of course you do.Why wouldn't you?You're as numbed and joyous as I am in this moment...

I don't want to let anybody down.Be a failure.A lost cause.But I also want to be happy,noticed,loved.How do I make these two sides meet?As we speak,things aren't looking that willing to cooperate.

Stay in the present,my dear!Let it all be!Now is what matters above all else...

All authors are frauds

all authors are frauds
and all their books are inked lies-
you can't articulate pain nor can you encompass beauty-
do you think yourself God,mirrored soul?
I'll let you in on a secret: the sunset belongs in the sky
and you should all be caged like the wounded wolves
that you portray-
why should I trust a soul more damaged than my own?
losing your dignity has its perks:
the curtains fall and the naked truth can now
perform in the middle of glorified filth;
seeking refuge in burlesque words,trembling sentences,
stained pages,what a demanding world!
I could just slap you all!
...then kiss you hard on the mouth,breathless and numb,
gnawing at a dark "thank you!" behind my lips;
blessed bastards,how you make my life an art,
my eyes saints and my insides warm!
a cursed miracle,all authors are frauds...

12 hours

Troubled sleep.Hurried coffee and tasteless bread.Cold tiles,cold air,cold heart.Annoying noise and disturbing motion.Distracted eyes and wrong stairs.Refuge in a book.Disrespect and an inferiority complex.Silent nerves.All the world's thoughts during the course of a few numb hours.Cement eyelids.The desire to know,the lack of will power to survive this academical and temporal test.Bad feelings.Fake smiles.Unwanted friends.Crippled insides.Stupid.Sealed lips.Damned feet.Creeping darkness.Subway meetings.Three for two.Unrequited niceness.Lost time and irretrievable energy.Freezing soles and wild water.Blank mind.Mechanical arms.Wonky position.Weary eyes that won't cooperate.The urge to never give up.Almost unconscious success.The appeal of familiar surroundings.Goodnight,12 hours worth of Hell!I'll never miss this broken shell...

"So crawl on my belly 'till the sun goes down

I'll never wear your broken crown!"

Hungry

When something's wrong,you try to fill up that void: food,drugs,music,art,you name it.A hungry black hole between your lungs demands sustenance,be it graceful...or not.You can't weep,you won't beg for love,you'd never tell it out loud-what then?Silence.Ache.Shameful eyes that won't look in any mirror.Distracted mind.You cling on to every single word of compassion,only to crumble like a rusty empire when rejection naturally comes your way.Who ever made us so damn dependent of each other?I swear,a crowd has never felt more lonesome!Same motion,same heartache...I'm starving!Love,real emotions,salty tears,innocent smiles,give me something!My hands are shaking and the view from this black chair isn't all that comforting: are my wishes too out of this world?I hope so.Then I could escape with them,far away,maybe...Maybe even home.

Blue ignorance

My bed's a mess.So is my face.Bitter coffee.Hasty hands.Twisting key.Marilyn's on the floor,all metal and broken pieces.A cold claw reaching towards my soles,my spine,my raggedy bones.Bare neck and fallen lips.No smile,nothing to deny.Self-imposed surrender.Busy subway.Strange strangers.Empty space.Dumb eyes.Unanswered questions.Will I ever feel important and witty again?Crackling flesh.Hurtful stomach.Blue ink.Drenched spirit.Fleeting understanding.Wavy motion.One unwilling foot in front of the other.Dark streets.Burnt bread.Inviting sheets.Timed rest.Papers,papers,papers.Obvious ignorance.Hallow brain.Empty heart.Rebel body.I don't want to give in!Words flowing like a tiresome river.Cold shover.Damned conscience.Tired feet.Disturbingly relatable songs.Weary eyelids.My life's a mess.

Smoldering senses

I can't catch a break,I can't catch my breath-
the sky's a blinding cage under which this body
twists and bends and weeps
like a wounded seagull;
an oozing sentiment predicts the end,
the blinding end,the end of pride,
wishful thinking and faith,my everything
dropped as sacrifice at the bottom of the sea;
see?nothing can last,not even time-
clocks burn beneath our feet,while minds die
inside wooden ghost ships in broad daylight;
I wish for sanity,for flawless bones,
for humid eyes,for tranquility,
for more than I could ever gather together
without staining my soul with sins;
predictions make me nervous,as do promises
and nightmares and petty hearts-
how long before this spirit cracks like a numbed branch?
I can't catch my breath,I can't catch a break...

Books,feathers and fears

Sunday sucks.No,for real,it actually does.Even before my "end of the week commuting experience",it had always been something dreadful and freakishly annoying for some reason.Now,well,everything's being multiplied by ten.Dear God,I know it's technically the first day of the week and all that,but I can't conceal my true feelings towards it,especially when it comes to You!The rush and last minute preparations and false eagerness,all for fear of not missing that damn train!

"But,Adriana,why do you do it then?Why don't you just stay there and come home once every two or three weeks?"Uhm,no.And fuck you,anonymous and strange voice in my head.The thought of coming home is what actually keeps me going,don't you get it?Jesus Christ,I count the days...starting with Monday!I don't like my new lifestyle and that's that!There,I said it.Ugh!I'm so screwed...

So I resort to a trade: five for two.It's not fair,but what is in this world?Funny thing,though,is what I bring back to conceal my "free prison": posters,jewelry,pictures,quotes,bits and pieces from the past to make the present more bearable.Silly,isn't it?Silly and emotionally necessary.

I don't know,I've grown colder and quieter.Books don't give off the same passionate perfume,while my brain refuses to find comfort in imagination.It's amazing how lonely one can feel at the end of the day in a city full of life and people.

Watching pigeons fly and my own feathery earring twirling in the wind raises a question: is it better to be earthbound or addicted to the sky?Heaven knows and Hell forbids knowing.

I wish I could cry right now,let it all out.But no.I'm rotting on the inside,you can tell.

Alas!I am dead.

Black legs

I've seen this picture before.I'm experiencing heartache once more.Why do I perceive my emotions as being fake?A plastic shell over a raw core.My legs are black,my emotions on repeat mode.Nothing's as it used to be.I feel...drained.Here is my sanctuary,my freezing bliss.I wish Hell would freeze over.Just saying...You know what my drug is now?Sound.I feel deprived of natural noises and ear riots.It all seems like a peculiar paradox,considering I dwell in an environment built upon movement,action and rush.Yet everything,from walls to pages to faces,comes through as an asylum.That creepy,eerie sensation that something bad's about to happen,something that you can't control...Not here,though.Here...Here is what I have for a few fleeting moments that make it worthwhile.My energy.My sustenance for those hours when I'm not myself anymore,but a breathing carcass.Lost!Lost!Lost in an impersonal experience which has no name and no body.You get better by identifying your problem,right?Well,I can't.I can't put my trembling finger on the devil that's haunting me.It's too fast...So this is where I actually live: my home,my family,my memories.No lies,no false hopes of adaptation.In my ugly clothes,with my messed up hair,in my worn out bed.Music fills me up again like a soothing river,food nurtures me properly.I can actually breathe the air I know!You could give me a billion reasons to "let go",but my answer would remain the same: "No".This is what I truly have,nothing less,nothing more.And I feel blessed and cursed at the same time.Even so,I wouldn't give up my soul for all the knowledge and power in the world...

Moving passion

To my beautiful subway stranger.

here I stand,arms flooded with cotton weights

and peculiar eyes,waiting for a ride,

a faster clock,a stronger sense of pride...

then I see you- I do not flinch,

yet my body shifts towards your

silent magnetism:

plain clothes,auburn hair,lips as light

as feathers brushed against a blank page-

I wish to be released,but your unaware grace 

ties an invisible knot around my legs,

around my hips,above my neck...

leaving the hallow earth becomes a sacrifice 

of unidentified proportions,while your path

and careless walk remain the same;

you will never know I wrote this poem for you

nor will I ever guess whether your gaze met

my being by fleeting and divine accident-

you are now a ghost,a living and breathing ghost...

Strange skin

I wouldn't choose myself.I wouldn't pity myself.I wouldn't even consider coming up with an excuse for this incoherent liar I call "consciousness".Have you ever seen a puppy relentlessly beg?That's me,but less cute and more annoying: my need to please others and be accepted by them has become almost disgusting.To be honest,there are days when I can't even look in the mirror; it's not hatred,just disappointment.Disappointment that my actions don't match my values,that my body doesn't listen to my mind,that everything I do comes out flawed.All this decaying narcissism is turning out to be poisonous and it's managing to spoil even these now fleeting joys of the present.Why am I the way I am?!My skin feels strange and my thoughts form in an unknown language: in all truthfulness,I am at peace with my faith.Again,I wouldn't choose myself.

Heartache and roses

I slept through a troubled war going on in my head,defenseless and damned to wake up even more tired than I went to bed.

I was in my local supermarket,you know,buying stuff that students usually need (like candy and instant soup and fruit juice).The radio then started playing "Northern Downpour" by Panic! at the Disco.I swear to you,the urge to cry filled me like a thousand oceans and only God knows how I escaped with a dry face.Still,my soul remained damaged and heavy.
I read way too many pages at a time and understood way too little: is this my mind now?A useless sponge?A soft brick?A damned friend?I'm scared.
I wandered through now known spaces,fighting the urge to run back and kneeling in front of my broken dignity.
I held on to my rosy cardigan like a drowning man to a buoy and hoped someone would notice change.
I watched the hours pass by,clutching to shreds of recognition and wishing my savior would come already.
I let the wind pass through me in the middle of a very busy street and in the midst of a soul crisis.
I let go of "never would I ever" and lied everything is alright.
I ate a sickening soup (yes,that soup!) and wished I could literally cry my heart out.
I asked myself "Why?" a thousand times and "Because..." couldn't come up with a valid answer-there was a sane one,but not enough to be worthwhile.
I hoped for the best and let go of the rest.
I sinked into my bed with masked relief,not knowing whether to be grateful or uneasy.
I had a rough day.

Silver dot

Game over!I took off my lip piercing.Yes,the one for which I have fought with man,school and principles,prejudice and stigma.
It may look like defeat,but it's actually not.It's...it's like closing the last chapter of a brilliant book: you had your time together,but things must carry on.
Though I do love taking situations to the most melodramatic level possible,one could say that I got very attached to my lovely silver dot over the years.In a way,it made me feel special,worthwhile,unique in my own weirdness.As you may know by now,confidence isn't my strong point,so this (apparently) pointless piece of carved metal acted as a pretty damn fine fuel to power an almost extinguished flame.
Is it extremely depressing and fascinating that no one has noticed anything yet?I mean,on the one hand,it's not like I've been on a socializing spree during the last few hours-but not even my roommate?We spend 99% of our time together,for Pete's sake!On the other hand,maybe it's because people have gotten used to it,to my "uniqueness",so that it doesn't matter if I still have my piercing or not.I don't know how to react to this:am I happy?Sad?Relieved?Regretful?Confused?!

Naturally,someone will eventually look at my face and the light-bulb shall illuminate.I know for sure that my family and few closest friends fit into this category,so I'm bitchin' about nothing.

It feels so empty,though!My tongue is constantly searching for a known cold space and my teeth are clutching to peculiar!I'll get used to it.Society gets used to things.Or does it?

I guess I'm growing up.Or just growing old.Or both.Frankly,it all looks as if I'm growing tired,weak and numb.Is nostalgia a side effect of loss?Probably...

I'm going to truly miss my silver dot.