Words and numbers

They kept shouting about money, properties, debts and the house. They want space, both of them. More space to need but with no money to have. He kept blowing in his hands as if that warm air would give him a better shelter. “I can’t think!” He screamed. “I can’t go backwards!” She said. They both argued about their opposite logical opinions on how to live better.

They started screaming with high pitched voices and flying spits and their voices became so distracting that it became impossible to separate them and tell which was which. Then without listening to each other they continued staring in each other’s faces with red angry eyes, knitted eyebrows and wrinkled foreheads. It was quiet like the silence after the storm but the hate was shouting through their faces with anger.

When the eye staring competition was over they switched their ill-mannered language to the language of numbers that I hate the most. Fed up, I sit there invisible and afraid to make a move and bring the attention to me. No expressions were made on that poker face of mine and no word would dare to expose herself out in the open.

Fear is the motive

The invitation was blurry, I’m not sure if it was real or a dream. He took me around the world in seconds! He showed me around to see ruins and the seven wonders which were made in his honour as gifts to please his pride.

We went to a cold place with strange looking stones which are chaotically in order, I’ve seen it before in a book. He told me that those stones are symbols; a riddle waiting to be solved. They leave riddles everywhere to the open eyes but that doesn’t mean that those eyes have open minds.

He gave me a paper with an eye drawn on it … It was one extraordinary eye. He told me to face the mirror before I sleep and look into the reflection of this eye. I did exactly that and I had visions in my sleep. It came to me like slides pushing forward. More like still images showing up in sequence; keys and doors mostly.

I opened my eyes to find a figure on the wall watching me sleep … It had a goat’s head and it was darker than the dark and blacker than the night. I went to open the lights but it disappeared before I heard the switch click. Maybe they know that we’ve been sniffing around and they’re trying to make us stop our movie. It was a warning … Maybe we should be one of them.

Awake but I’m still in confusion … What was I supposed to do? What does this vision mean? Who’s eye is this? I have more questions every minute I think about it. Wait … What is this knife doing here? It’s not mine! What is this? … It’s another note …

On the edge

Hello blue eyes … I haven’t seen you in a while. Last time I lacked the faith and courage, but I’m a whole new girl now. I grew up but I see that you haven’t changed, you have the same pure soothing depth that you had before.

I trust you with all of my secrets and burdens even though your only response is a comforting whisper, your calming smell and your trials of carrying them far away to the sunset. I feel you flow in life, I feel you break and merge and I hear you call my name every night.

I love the way your smooth fingers play on my face like the playful breeze and I love the buried stories in your treasure chest that you tell me. Take me in when I fall into your mysterious arms, embrace me with your weakness and your strength. Heal my wounds and wash my soul from my stains as I breathe you all in.

I have the need to dip into the darkness and disappear like the mermaid’s story in reverse. I want to float, to dream, to be free, to be saved, to live and to sleep. I’m just a step away … One more step to go beyond, to you, for my rebirth to begin.


A torn diary of a dead man

I refuse to hear the sounds of misery so I place my fingers in my ears … My eyes, however, how can I close them when they are the lucid witnesses of these crimes? They saw the unfair wrists pulling down the mistreated necks and the empty mouths are talking instead of speaking up.

Ropes are hanging down from our dead trees and dead men are sat on fire by the dancing red heads for their hands have only stolen their rights. You see, the scale is off balance and no one wants to give the law a call.

When the sinners are trying to make juice out of the wine our sky refuses to give us life. Now, is it fair when the pearls sleep in peace in their shells and our army of orphans are making sand castles? Am I misguided for holding my book of poetry in hope instead of the book of religion?

Don’t you bother … My ears are closed. You can only answer me when your mouth is empty but you can taste the salt in that orphan’s tears, your neck is being dragged in humiliation but you can look up to the sky that looks down on you, when you see humans burning but have no water to save them and when you can see through eyes like mine.

I want to feel …

How did I turn out to be like that? Like this … I don’t know me anymore, I’m looking at the mirror and I see my demon staring back at me.

I lost my feelings, so I began to borrow some from others. I became addicted, I even started to appreciate fear experiences. I have literally felt everything and there is nothing much left to steal.

I tried to escape but now I have to live with it. I ripped people’s feelings out and now they have nothing inside, just like me. They became monsters too but I haven’t left them with much to feed on. Now what? I need to feel human again, even if that means that I have to do inhuman things.

I didn’t choose to be me but I can stop being me, would you let me see life through your eyes? To feel what you felt … Anger, fear, sorrow, love and all? Leave me but don’t leave me in hunger! If you were me, what would you choose? Starvation or salivation?

The interview

I waited in line to go under … Why? What was I waiting for? I arrived and sat waiting on a bunch of chaotically placed red chairs with weird people waiting with me. They are here because they want to be here but I feel hypnotised. Damn it! It is so hot in here … I can barely breathe!

They looked nervous and spoke with such dirty words that were so filthy to be known by a normal person. This bold, pale guy with weird tattoos and piercings was biting off his nails like those chopped lips were hammers and his eyes were widely opened staring into nothing … He looked anxious but excited.

I was called by guards … I got through two long doors with symbols carved on them, into a dark room with a throne sitting inside … Who is that? He wore a black cape, had long black nails and his face was partly shown, it looks like it is boiling. He spoke Latin, the weird thing is that I understood. I kept looking around, but there was nothing, just an empty room. He offered me a contract of fire to sign saying that he will grant my wishes if I joined his army.

The fear of truth

What if you find a book that has all of the answers that you don’t want to know? Would you dare to read? What if then the way you see the world changes? Will you start to see people changing their skins? Will you see your chains which are made of humiliation?

Will you be inside a cage and its key is with a master of your fears? Will you even try to break free? A slave you are, a slave you will be when it falls into the hand of another slave for it is his only chance to switch. Will your blanket shrink then and stop covering your cold feet?

Never mind, you know what is scarier? If the answers were for Yes or No questions and all of them were Yeses. Now, after you read, a mighty door will open before you and strong white light comes out, will you go in or do you fear the light now?