Rough And Ugly

 

Another night under the dim moonlight, I took a stroll to calm my madness

To claim what I felt lost - what was stolen or gifted, I was not sure anymore.

Cobblestones ahead of me, darkness gently hugging the body,

Wind softly holding the weary hands.

The restless of my mind is exhausting

Playing scenes long forgotten,

Voiced by people muted from the songs I play.

…

I let them conquer my thoughts, I let them run wild

And then I strike back with confidence I thought I never had.

This is just my overstimulated mind - They are no longer here, my soul is safe.

Overthinking is my worst trait, reliving old pain from time to time

Just to remind me I am not the one I used to be.

I enjoy the pain I inflict myself like a shameless act, a punishment of once being weak.

I love the safeness of the night, I can show my demons, I let them run wild.

I am losing my sanity and put myself back – we are all doing it;

There is no denial – I enjoy the taste of my weakness – sometimes bitter, sometimes sweat.

The silence is the mirror of my thoughts – so destructive, raging like sea storm.

These sick conversations held ages ago, accompanied by grief and betrayal

A dance of cruelty – I to them and them to me.

We live a morally grey lives – we are not villains and yet we cannot be heroes even in our own fairy tales.

We are broken with the desire to brake those closest to us, so that we are not alone – misery loves company.

We are so dedicated to the cause of being with cut wings, unable to fly out of the grim situations we have created.

We play victims yet we are the cruelest executors, carrying the “justice” on our filthy lips.

We are so damaged, annihilated emotionally; craving “salvation” of who we truly are.

We are so ugly when alone yet so shiny when others are around.

Duality is our first nature, theater with masks Venetian style.

Our souls feel so ancient – culturally educated yet destructively primitive – godlike beings.

We create, we destroy, we build and we tear down as if it is not a big deal.

…

Possessed by old delusions and hate, these empty streets feel so foreign, I am undoubtedly lost…

Should I give in into the old habits or should I fight a constant battle – the old me or the new one to prevail.

I am so tired of this inner conflict, I feel so dizzy every now and then

This inner strive for survival is so unnecessary and yet I feel obliged to fight.

…

Cobblestones, dark night, alone with no regrets,

Grinning smile, predatory eyes – this is the final form of my emotional strain.

I am the monster and the ethereal being – light and darkness

Neither good nor bad – just a human in its weakest state

Seconds before calling my demons back inside,

Before hiding all the pain and happiness just to stay a few more days peacefully ALIVE.

And then the cycle will repeat in self-destruction and self-rebuilding countless more times.

The Song That Never Was

 

You and I — two opposing worlds,

Locked in a silent power struggle,

But for the soul of the art we so desperately try to make.

...

You were furious when the song played differently than you imagined,

Each off-note of mine crashing against your careful harmony.

Your spirit is gentle, measured —

And yet, around you, I shrink under the pressure of control.

What weakens you — sounds unpredictability — is where I thrive.

Enough with the discord — let’s return to the page,

and bleed these thoughts onto something tangible.

...

There you are — tucked into the brightest corner of this faded space.

You once told me, “I can’t write in such dullness,”

And yet you keep coming  again and again.

I curled in the shadows of the same room, release the weight I’ve carried alone —

My darkness sinking deeper into the faded daylight.

Maybe this time we will find agreement — between your clean words and my frayed expressions.

I chose the voice of darkness while you opted for the light – no surprise.

And in this attic — where time pauses —

We let the words spill, without shame – rough and mellow, onto the same worn page we called poetry.

...

I saw you — radiant, like a truth never spoken aloud,

And yet I drifted toward you like falling dust pulled by a gravity I still refuse to name.

We orbit each other — two artist lost in the melody we never learned —

Who is the flame burning for applause, and who is the rust clinging to memory of pride?

Your quiet presence slices through the air —

Your jaw tight, your spine unyielding against this collapsing moment.

Near you, I become unfinished — yet somehow, you read what I refuse to reveal.

I summon fog to shield myself but you move through it effortlessly,

As if my vanishing act was never convincing.

I wear composure like a mask, each of your silent glances framed and buried.

Don’t look away — your gaze still carries everything your silence dares not speak.

You and I — two echoes stitched together, two verses searching for a chorus that will not arrive.

You are earthbound — constant, seeking clarity.

I remain undefined — watching from above, not to escape, but to see from where I cannot be seen.

We speak no words,

But this room — our unfinished stage — hears it all.

Here, we revise each other’s truths without ever finishing the edits.

We lie beautifully — every sentence rehearsed,

Every glance dressed in meaning we never meant to wear.

Remnants of what is better left buried — yet never truly gone.

...

Another draft, another painful moment -

We fight, we write, we try to harmonize.

Again, the lyrics feel unresolved — just like us.

One of us needs to anchor, to define, to possess.

The other just wants to move freely, untethered.

My independence rebels against your protection.

Another clash. Another refusal to compromise.

I stay in my corner, alone — the lyrics finally done,

But the song is a true evidence of another botched attempt.

We are not a good creative match — no matter how often we try to prove otherwise.

The Song Beneath Our Skin

 

You and I – worlds apart yet so close;

Distance cannot keep the minds apart

Lonely nights, anxious days,

Trapped inside building made of glass,

Are we going to survive the carnage of the boring days

And stay sane for the art we conjure when darkness falls?

…

Drunk from the stars I open my white sheet

Ready to take the pen with my trembling fingers,

If it is a music - let it be heavy soften by harplike sound.

Guitar riffs battle with the tender tune – dance between a brute force and a mellow touch…

Where does it ends?

You are starting with the song so slow yet relevant to me,

As if you are afraid that I might hear the pain hidden behind the strings pulled so perfectly

But still here we are…

Beneath the gentle touch of your rough fingertips, I come strong

I am turning it into the darker piece – my guitar strings tightening the artistic grip,

Let’s rise it up a notch – a bit sharper, strummed even unrepentant as if I am possessed by something else.

Can’t you feel the fire burning up inside me – creation vs creator; battle between two titans?

Are we giving up our souls to the beauty of this midnight creativity, fully engulfed by our inner fears unleashed to roam freely the room?

Or are we keep pretending that we are unhappy ”artists” unable to create?

We are so undoubtedly consumed by those choruses, the air quivers – we have gone beyond.

Note by note we spiral into distortion – pulling these chants from very skin and bones!

Riff by riff until we are out of breath with fingers bloodied from this melody war.

And here we are again – You and I – striking another chord – a refrain that roars thought the sweetness of the room

Before dragging it back to the hollow world of grey walls.

…

Hush follows as it should, you are tired, fingers lifted from the magic harp -

Ready for goodbye.

I am sitting quietly on the piano ready to play the forbidden lullaby.

The piece is still unfinished, notes left unplayed.

I am leaving the sounds of the lower octaves to echo because unlike you my song is finished -

A bit darker yet deliberately incomplete…