Breathless

She was looking in the mirror then felt something creeping in her mouth, so she opened it wide to see a gigantic cockroach tickling it by his hairy legs. She tried to spit it out but it was stuck like glue flipping along with her tongue and drowning in her saliva, so she accidentally chewed it partly and one of his wings got stuck between her teeth. Its dirty juicy blood and fluids flowed on her coloured tongue then it came out crawling and it fell in weakness. She choked after swallowing the fluids then she started spitting and trying to clean her throat but nothing came out.

Her teeth started to fall off her gums and she started to spit them out one by one, then she touched the rest of them to find out that they are easy to detach. Her teeth are staring back at her from the sink in a puddle of blood. She opened her mouth again to see a gummy grandmother and a younger version of herself screaming from her throat.

Behind her stands an old man who is pale, skinny and bold with sweaty armpits. He hugs her from behind rubbing and smooching her back with his wrinkled lips and then he pulls up her shirt touching her bellybutton and going up. She started to scream for someone to save her, then two big hairy hands with long fingers and sharp black nails came from the thin air above her head to get her. She got pulled up and disappeared from this world to who knows where.

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I was … I am

In that cold white room I thought … “I remember this place.” Is it sad or funny that I look up to my younger self? In that time I feared none but one and now I am afraid of the endless possibilities. I lived in the house of fear where I got bruised and where I couldn’t feel safe or belong yet I stood tall. I lived with illness and I was the cure who worried about death.

I tried to run away from my own life but I’m still here trying to keep up. The younger me is much braver than I. If only she were here to guide me through. Five cups, who are nine years old today, are my only childhood friends who are left. I look at them as I grow bitter and think … Where have you gone? I’m lost without you.

Mysterious man

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“Am I next?” I thought as I walked by a cemetry in Turkey. They were people like me, I am no god. Will I die? That is out of question. What about my pitiful misdeeds … will I carry their heavy weight on my chest? Will they fit in my grave? In the darkness lays green. Who is that man standing before me? Why do I feel pulled and submissive?

Fear of death is suddenly clear and planted. Stranger, Are you reading my thoughts?! Stop shuffling them on your poker table. I am only grey fading to white. As the healing illness runs through my veins I can hear his only loud thought – “You are next.”