Cycle of Chaos

 

Heart wrapped in darkness, soul engulfed in shadowiness,

Addicted to the wickedness within, ready for the long game.

Shadows dancing underneath the skin,

Losing every sense of what has been.

Fingertips charged with hidden lightnings,

Ready to damage the one chosen for this night.

Addicted to the chase and then the escape,

Living on the edge just to stay lost in the moment.

…

She doesn’t need the stability of the colourless days,

Tired of the simple nights,

She is the smoke in the sinner’s lungs,

The fix that they need when the danger is no longer present.

She is the thunder they need when the room is too sunny,

Ready to erupt in a massive storm, just to drown the silence out.

She is the earthquake they crave when walking on steady ground,

The fracture they dream about when they feel whole.

She is wildfire running in waves in their veins,

The burn they need just to feel alive one more day.

She is the hurricane they invite in their safe spaces

When her wreckage is what make them feel those rooms so called homes.

She is the lighting that splits open the darkest skies,

The fear they beg for when nothing hurts them enough.

She is the flood they want to break those brick walls,

The drowning they need to remember how to breathe.

She is the avalanche they trigger when the comfort takes hold on their lives,

The fall they desired when their existence feels more like death.

…

Picking up my own wreckage, stitching the broken pieces within,

Addicted to the healing of the annihilation I willingly begin.

Scars crawling over my pale skin, badges of honour no one else can give,

Fixing every part, ready to be shattered when the mood strikes me.

Fingertips bleeding from all the damage inflicted with ease,

Ready to undo all the progress I have made, pain is my favourite medicine.

Eager for destruction the moment I start feeling just fine,

Intoxicated with the ruins of my own peace.

She is the chaos I cannot get rid of, the sweet poison flowing in my bloodstream.

She is me and I am her – damnation and salvation clad in the same skin.

The Mask

 

How dare you to live behind all these masks?

Aren’t you tired of all these charades?

Aren’t you weakened by all the weight you pulled during the day

Pretending to function like a human, well put together,

Belonging to all the wrong rooms?

How do you live behind all these masks?

Don’t you feel lost after all the games you played?

Are you blind to the tears trying to burst?

Why don’t you feel hurt?

Or maybe your second skin is to pretend you have succeeded?

How do you choose which mask to wear?

When do you know you need to switch?

Aren’t you tired yet?

Doesn’t the pain weigh on you or is your numbness your greatest strength?

How much harm can you take before you fall down exhausted by the “would it be great if” in your life?

How do you live behind all these masks?

Is this who you truly are? – A chameleon, a performance well staged?

Aren’t you too damaged to recognize the deep wounds - unhealed?

Or don’t the scars matter to you anymore?

What if every mask is a knife in your soul, perverting you from being whole?

What if every show is just another lie you love to watch and hear, avoiding to face how broken you have become?

Why is this stage all you crave when the harm is bleeding you dry?

What have you done?

…

How dare you to live behind all these masks?

Almighty, perfect human in front of the broken mirror – which mask is the winner today?

Are you picking the mask of the strong one or maybe the unforgivable one?

Which reflection do you call real tonight?

Or maybe the cracks are showing who you are?

Nope, you are not tired yet, standing speechless, one hand on the wall,

A new mask in the other hand, ready to be worn.

Getting ready for the next place you can’t belong,

A life you can’t even call your own and still, you put the mask on – ready to fool yourself, to disappear behind another face.

The Scar I Chose

 

I no longer can stay with you – your taste is now bitter, no strawberry flavoured kisses,

I no longer can stay with you – your scent is now too musky,

I no longer can stay with you – your gaze is now a glacier, piercingly cold,

I no longer can stay with you – your touch makes my skin ache.

…

You started like a tale as old as time – a long - forgotten sweetness pouring into my mouth.

Every stolen minute flew like a blink of an eye,

Every spoken word felt like music, song so distant yet devoted, mine.

Your presence awoke feral thoughts as if I were a beast, finally ready to escape the chains,

Suppressed for ages, ready to taste the freedom you offered, ready to come out.

Every touch made me strong, ready to endure what you had in store for me,

Ready to explore, ready to be devoured, ready to evaporate.

Your raspy voice, so enchanting, made me dance under the full moon like an untamed wolf.

Your fingers tracing my spine defied gravity, I felt like a raven roaming freely through the sky.

…

Your lips are now foreign – rotten cranberries replaced the sweetness I learned to love.

Your scent still lingers in the outer corners of my room, still refusing to leave even after I replaced you with a bouquet of fresh lilac.

I no longer search for the empty eyes you gifted me – you are now just another stranger passing by my life.

My body still remembers your touch – I refuse to forget what it feels like not be held.

…

But I will bury your scent beneath fresh flowers every day,

I will change the music and introduce a new dance,

I will teach my body to stop craving the touch of your hands,

I will accept the lonely room and never let you reach the door.

…

I no longer can stay with you – I refuse to drink the wine dressed in sweetness, brewed only to poison me,

I no longer can stay with you – I refuse to wear your scent follow me,

I no longer can stay with you – I refuse to shiver in your winter,

I no longer can stay with you – your touch is now a scar I choose not to heal.

The Other Half

 

And there they stood – a spitting image of each other – same posture, same gestures, same facial expressions.

However, one of them was elegant – a custom-tailored dark olive pantsuit, a dark cashmere shirt peeking out underneath the jacket, high heels, expensive bag, a boring bob she called a hairstyle – simple yet sophisticated. Looking at her face – the marks of unhappiness painted all over her features – dark circles hidden by the light make-up, fine wrinkles crossing her forehead – traces of frowning too many times for too long. Poised, successful, stylish, yet visibly unhappy. The life had been sucked out of her; the eyes were dull and sparkles, her smile long forgotten.

Opposite her stood the other half – joyful and playful, dressed alternatively – boots, chains and harnesses. Leather skirt, transparent shirt, crop top – all black. Yet her hair was more colourful than the rainbow – her long lush hair hugged her shoulders. Her eyes twinkle like big stars on a dark sky, her smile – was spring in full bloom, her features fresh and carefree, alive. Her career had gone nowhere but her personal life was a bouquet of memories and emotions woven into every cell of her being.

Both stood still, looking at each other, curious and surprised. They had no idea the other one existed. And although there were tons of questions roaming in their minds eager to be asked, they remained silent – locked in a staring contest. A few moments later, they parted ways without a word – each of them continuing with their routines.

Curiosity was all they had. They were lone wolves – raised apart, survived alone with no place for each other in their lives. Two halves, yet somehow complete. Incompatible. Outsiders to each other.

They know now they are two, yet their lives cannot mesh – too different, too proud to bend, too busy to explore, no need to connect.

The Woman

 

The change bears the name of a woman tired of the dullness of her life

Gray hairs, rigid face lines.

The change lives inside the mind of a woman tired of the constant pushes that she is not enough –

A daughter, a sister, a wife, a mother.

The change fuels the unhappy woman ready to change the course of her life –

To conquer the mountains that she has been taught were never meant to her.

The change is the flame that brightens the soul of a woman who has finally realized

That only she can help herself when justice is not served right.

…

She is the slow river patiently carving the rock, finding the impossible paths

When her mind is set, when she is finally stable, when she is calm.

She no longer cares if it would take several centuries or just a day,

She is determined to forge her own life.

She is the violent sea storm when her new-found voice is deliberately silenced,

Her quiet rage unleashed to reveal the complexity of her wit,

Unable to stay invisible when her winds need to spread through the vast land.

She is the rain that cools down a hot summer night

When her emotions are running wild, unable to stay hidden.

She is the fire that warms up the cold room

Where her whole existence is all the world needs.

She is the life that creates another – simply because she can;

She is the death that comes quietly when no one is around,

She is the darkness when her presence is treated like danger.

She is the beginning and she is the end – she is the ultimate creator and the impending doom.

She wears the name Change with a head held high – unpredictable and brave, gentle and vicious.

She chooses to be one or another, sometimes both at once,

She is the Yin-Yang master – balance hidden in a fragile body, constantly undermined.

…

The change is the flame burning fiercely in the soul of the woman who has understood.

The change fuels the woman who has ultimately chosen her path in life,

To conquer the mountains forbidden to her, never accepting the old teachings that she does not belong.

The change resides inside the mind of a woman who no longer bows down to the constant pushes that she is never enough –

A daughter, a sister, a wife, a mother – forever herself.

The change bears the name of a woman forever altered by the dullness of the life forced upon her –

Gray hairs, rigid face lines.