Midnight Tears of Iron

 

I don’t need anything; I am so used to being just me.

Any interruption I treat like a threat of my existence,

External disturbance of unhealthy voices.

I don’t need anything,

I’ve built what I lacked with my own persistence.

Away from foreign thoughts and comments,

It is my way of coping with the chaos I grow up in.

…

Some see it sad that the trust is broken, some even see me as damaged goods

And yet I am here fighting every day to what I hold dear to my heart.

I don’t see myself as a lonely princess waiting to be rescued.

In my world I am the one who carries the deepest scars

Yet always is regarded as the softest of them all.

But still those close to me try to intervene and give advices

I don’t ask for that – I only demand respect to my nature

I will talk when I find it best – as I said million times before - I don’t need anything.

Some of them are so offended – here wo go with the Hero complex:

Let me save you from yourself.

And when this request is denied, this friendship no longer serves them -

The ego boost declined.

Others present themselves as victims triggering my willingness to help

And when they got their validation, comfortably forget to call.

…

I don’t need anything,

I am what I had to become – harsh and blunt to the core.

Uncomfortable conversations held in the middle of the night

As if the darkness of the sky will hide the ugly truth revealed

Away from curious glances – enemies presenting as friends.

I don’t need anything,

I’ve cut the ties that no longer serve me.

I am no longer slave of my sweetness taken for granted,

I am not here to be the calm sea of your stormy weather.

I simply erase those existences from my life,

I am not here to heal the wounds I did not inflict.

I don’t need anything; I don’t want to be understood.

Every boundary I set is met with silence,

Let them call me Lady Cold - the thick ice cannot be broken by the timid steps above.

I don’t need anything - I’ve burnt the shaky bridges,

I don’t need those filthy hands touching my soul.

Like a phoenix rising from the smoke and ashes

I don’t pretend to be untouchable

Just claiming what feels true to me – unwilling to bend to those

Who try to make shrink into a little glimpse of their twisted illusion of who they need me to be!

I don’t need anything!

The Song of The Unnamed

Death of thousand cuts, pain deeper than the fresh wounds

Scars like medals of honor grace the body.

Is this the famous warrior or a wretch cursed by someone powerful?

Is this the promised saviour or the plague surfacing from the misery within?

…

Life like an ancient fairytale I relive every day -

Pages filled with pretentious heroism as if the world is only black and white;

Misunderstood villain with the best case ever plead losing sympathy just because.

And in this fantasy utopia I try to stay alert for all the misalignment

Shiny does not mean better – the brighter the colour more poisonous the creature.

Pointless cheers burden the throat yet the truthful whispers cost the tongue.

And here I stand engulfed by countless thoughts if these applauses are for victory to see it clear

Or another spectacle witnessing my inevitable fall.

Every smile feels insanely fake as if I am the brainless princess from the castle above,

Every act of kindness looks like calculated move.

Is the clear thought a sign of golden crown or finely forged shackles leaving invisible prints on the body?

Every face I’ve met I marked it mentally with the signs of the betrayal,

Loyalty is the impossible currency that everyone claims to posses yet the pouch is empty.

High demand yet hard to find.

This fairytale command for strong hero, yet no one really wants to pay the enormous cost.

Villains born out of necessity for opposition – who is the secret puppet master?

Every war I win feels like a compromise; every feast tastes like ash and dirt.

What if the world is dividing us into saints and monsters from an early age,

What if feel I am both yet neither feels close to my nature within?

What if the bright weather is just another mirage – poisonous air inhaled in every step I make?

What if I know I am going insane and yet I bravely chose this path?

What if the day is just a wishful thinking when I am prisoner in the darkest dungeon

And my eyes forgot the feel of sun rays?

What if this fantasy world is just my way to stay sane in a world extremely unhinged and deranged?

…

I close my eyes, tired I have decided to leave this story unfinished

Leaving the imagination to run wild as we all know the truth is not universal

Everyone has its own version like cover of a famous song.

And if I am fictional, I don’t need to find a bard to make a tune for me.

I prefer to stay a silent whisper on the lips of someone unknown.

A hero or a villain – I am unsure if I was ever real at all.

Quessence

 

A life measured in questions, each one heavier than the last.

…

Another story of unbecoming - words put in cold order

As if the pain will be tolerable for a day.

No medicine in the back pocket,

Waves of chill and heat dancing underneath the skin.

Another story of anger so well written,

No more polite conversations – let it out.

…

Growling screams so inhumanly, so abrasive.

Abstinence of happiness, fear overflowing the nervous system;

Every gesture is robotic – every action makes us increasingly undone.

Am I the only one fighting this unfortunate imbalance

Juggling between the darkness and lightness of my soul?

And yet so incomplete I feel minute by minute,

I am the only one at loss?

Walking on familiar streets yet I feel so foreign

Like an alien from outer space, so out of place

As if I am outlander banished from my home.

I can’t feel the coldness of the pouring rain,

The frigidness of the snow is no enemy to my skin,

The sun fires don’t leave marks on me anymore.

Am I still human or another human-made gadget clad in faux skin

Set free to roam the world and get better of reading human lives?

My head is spinning from too many questions, answers left unsaid;

I feel dizzy, panic mode unlocked.

Living and breathing puzzle, memories coming in riddles.

Where are the clues?

Surrounded by whispering shadows yet their voices never sound,

Staring at the reflection in the mirror – I cannot recall as mine.

I steal quick glance at my clock – time feels frozen – I am stuck?

I stand still on the solid ground and yet I feel the movement as if I am trying to walk through quicksand.

…

Surrounded by passers-by – no faces recognized, so crowded yet so empty.

I reach the end of the road, horror house in front waiting for its guests.

I stand motionless contemplating if I want to enter

I might end up in a world that doesn’t belong to me

And if I am welcomed, how will I realize if I am still me or lost for eternity?

Bonds Beyond Time and Place

 

A new season rolled out, a new year - almost passed.

Yet I find it hard to realize that the clock is ticking faster

Calendar changes like a blink of an eye – I am frozen back in time?

I find it hard to understand these concepts, my perception is not the same

I feel locked inside the prison of reality that bend the rules of the mundane life.

…

I question myself if I am way too lost in my thoughts and feelings,

Often cross-examine if I am stuck or maybe I went too far away.

And then I met you in our yearly gathering – I still feel the bonds so strong

Whatever uncertainty I had quickly vanished – I am almost me.

We sat with smiles bright, catching up excited – we have grown so much.

This friendship is like a spoon of honey to a bitter tea – add the sweetest gentle flavour

In the world bitterness and inner crises often left unsaid.

One conversation is enough to go back to what we believed when we entered this adulthood

A bit scared and confused yet so brave and sometimes even reckless,

Ready to fight in what we believed wholeheartedly.

Even when we were too naïve that the world is not a shitty place

We never backed down, side by side we pushed even harder

Eager to achieve what we wanted us to be – successful in what we found appealing

Ready to conquer in the impossible dreams.

Through hellish fires and snowy storms, we were each other’s rock – always there even if were on the brink of exhaustion, we chose to be the support system that cheers us regardless of our differences.

We chose to show up for one another, sometimes tired of the pressure, sometimes even ready escape.

…

15 years later I still see our cores so clear, a bit more serious, a bit more darkens, even beaten down at times.

And yet even though the life hasn’t always been so gracious, mercilessly painted on our souls and bodies

We stick to each other, genuine happiness for every milestone achieved.

For us the time weaves different – we are the mirrors that reflects the wins and struggles,

The hopes and even the wildest visions and fantasies.

As long as we stand by each other, we will always see growth with different lenses

From the girls with just ambitions to the women we have become – more stable and fulfilled,

Ready to face the impossible and still wild enough to keep dreaming, knowing what we need.

And most importantly fully capable to achieve whatever we decide the main goal this time is.

We keep it real to bones, we are always truthful to ourselves,

Bonds beyond time and place – four souls brought together by a chance –

A lasting friendship by choice.

Freedom Is My Name

 

Freedom is my name or maybe I keep telling myself that

Tired of all the invisible chains of the adulthood,

Forced to perform well, measured by possessions,

Should do what the others do, caged in normality.

Freedom is my name, I keep telling myself that

Not to forget the sweetness of my dreams coming true

Going against the current of what I was instilled by other,

Possessing different perspective, doing what I love.

Freedom is my name; I don’t belong to anyone but me.

Seeing beauty in what the others despise, dancing wild in my own music

Running like crazy on the green grass, everyone sees dry,

Like a bird I freely fly unbothered, refusing to bent the knee.

Freedom is my name, I don’t gel with what Is expected

Chasing the winds when everyone looks for shelter from the storms;

Pouring rain instead of hair, fire instead of eyes – I ain’t made of clay

I am unmoldable, iron heart from I can’t recognize as mine.

Freedom is my name – I am the untamed one

Whose joy comes from falling inlove with her soul every day,

Refusing to change when the change is not required,

Evolving in my own pace, my life is not a race with other’s timelines.

Freedom is my name – I keep shouting aloud when the world goes silent,

When the lines of my reality are blurred with someone else’s direction,

When the song lose its meaning I refuse to dance,

When lyrics don’t match my voice and vision anymore.

Freedom is my name, I keep telling myself that

Not to settle with less before I try to forge my own path,

It’s like a mantra I chant every time I feel down,

Influenced of what does not reflect me.

Freedom is my name – it is never easy, rarely do I face kindness or understanding

But the power comes from within – I am my biggest critic yet my greatest supporter,

Life is never easy when you walk on your own, against the grain.

Freedom is my name, Bravery is what comes with it.

I don’t look for applauses nor spotlight, I am perfectly contain with what I currently am,

No need of flashy stage, just a small corner where I am what I was always meant to be–

To be fully, wildly, unapologetically ME!

Freedom is my name and I feel FREE!

The Emptiness Within

 

Wake up, work, go home, repeat…

A never-ending time loop as if the world is not moving

Or I am frozen in time without a chance for change – I am suffocating.

Managing expectations of what the adulthood is supposed to be - the opposite of me

I am no longer alive – dead inside.

I walk through days like I live in an abandon asylum – lights are flickering

The corridors are dirty, endless maze of lost hope – lost in time.

Each step I take is humming the same dull song of duty and decay.

The clock is my executioner, the calendar chained to my mind.

I fake my purpose with long to-do lists; endless chain of duties,

Meeting my goals with processes and procedures which keep stealing my spark,

Yet pretending this shell of a life is what I chose – this existence is so wrong.

…

I hate what I have become, enslaved of sick ambitions, never happy,

Always pushing further – it has no end…

I chase goals that vanish once completed,

Like mirages on the edge of reason - living and breathing in the vast corporate desert.

What is success, if it guts me empty?

What is growth, if it costs me my sanity?

I am left so hollow once I get in and out the place that sucks me dry.

This isn’t living – it’s rehearsing death in slow motion - animated version of success.

I want to scream, but I have forgotten how.

My voice is buried beneath countless meetings, bills, and forced chats—

Deafen by the rhythm of a shallow routine,

Drowned out by the noise of doing just enough to get by.

I speak fancy words I don’t mean, smile when I feel nothing,

Nod through conversations that test my patience.

How did I let this happen?

When did the primal instinct for survival replace the desire of living?

When did I stop asking the questions that mattered the most to me?

When did the endless Curiosity of mine became such a luxury, a wonder, a distraction?

I traded my spark for stability I didn’t even want.

Now I measure life in deadlines and quiet disappointments,

Shiny reports and pages of documentation

Burying the questions that once lit up my mind.

Each day feels so borrowed, I have had enough —

A slow drift from who I was to "who I have to be".

And I barely recognize myself anymore - the silence inside me is growing louder.

…

Another weekend, lifeless on the couch with enough to just create something once a week

When emotions running high before the drastic energy decline,

A glimmer of hope and purpose drown into the infinite fatigue.

Words drift in but I cannot make them stay with me – chased by the exhaustion I coupled with.

And I whisper to myself – "Maybe next time" knowing too well I have been lying to myself,

The words I have said countless times – the echo of forgotten promise that feels heavier every time.

Womanhood Or Something Like That

 

Brought up by semi-modern women,

Values mixed with prosperity and flavor of obedience.

We keep trying to fulfill what we are expected to by the society and parental hopes.

We are being told that we should be fighters yet gentle with a strong feel of being someone’s home

And we should not stop supporting those we call other half.

…

And here we are so damaged and so broken, feeling lost,

From all the teachings we received, we were never taught to seek what we truly desire.

I keep hearing my mother’s voice that I should be so independent,

That I should always have my own money, home, ambitions until I meet the one.

Then I should settle, forget about what I strive to achieve and give birth to children

As my life is not yet so bright, not so deep.

Yet I am so confused from all this wisdom what should I be – a homemaker and achiever.

What this live is supposed to be?

And it clicked me after years of depression, tons of therapy and tears shed

That I have never been asked the question – What exactly you want to be?

Religion put into the picture, extension of my parents what makes the life good,

Never taught to choose what it right, just what should make them proud.

As young women we struggle – be a good girl, be smart, don’t provoke attention,

Stay invisible, don’t push too hard and yet we are expected to be pure perfection –

Look at them, it’s not that hard.

…

So we break ourselves quietly, framed into the shapes they demand.

We swallow grief in the dark, wipe off the evidence only to return to the stage.

Taught to pour tea with trembling hands, to bleed and smile through it.

Told that agony is noble, that silence is our inheritance.

When we shatter into pieces, they scoff—weak, hysterical, ungrateful, not pretty enough.

They want us clever yet not defiant,

Driven but never to go in life too far—

Soft enough to soothe, dumb enough to forget what they truly meant,

Numb enough to never fall in waves of rage - not so ladylike to admire.

When the loneliness wraps its bony hands around our ribs,

We whisper our guilt into the mirror, ashamed of needing more.

Some of us chain ourselves to strangers, mistaking it for rescue.

Some of us remain untouched, too haunted to trust.

…

No one tells us—

You don’t owe them your silence.

You don’t have to vanish to be loved.

You weren’t made to fix what’s broken in others.

You weren’t born just to carry tradition like a curse.

But by the time we learn this,

We've already been reshaped— cut down, dulled, rewired.

Our identities surgically edited to match the script of “the real woman.”

Now we drift somewhere between versions of half truth and a lie—

Some polished and pretty, others barely stitched together.

And the ones holding the pen keep rewriting our parts,

Claiming it’s truth, claiming it’s fate.

We walk in borrowed skin - costumed like clowns in someone else’s circus,

Trapped in lives we have never subscribed for,

Called by names that never felt to belong.

Still we lie next to people who never saw us.

Still we whisper in fear—What the fuck is wrong with me?

And the truth is so cruel and so clear—

They never gave us the space to become real.

Only carved us into something they could hold,

Something easy to OWN.

The Fall We Chose

 

I saw you spiraling down and I get to like you,

This insanity is fucked up and it drowns me like a magnet.

You asked me to help you yet I managed to destroy you even further;

You asked me to save you yet my powers were no match to your craze.

…

Like the Joker and Harley Queen we bear only chaos,

Experimental love I call it – project to fix.

Such broken people I cannot resist,

Your trembling voice is like hypnotizing song

Taking over my clear mind, another version of me emerges.

I lose myself in the heat of your madness,

And in your ruins, I build my home.

Your scars speak louder than your words,

While I listen to you feeling like a fool in love with pain.

Is this love or another version of my wrongly placed sick devotion?

Two shadows clinging to the fire they lit.

We complete each other like a Ying and Yang

You scream - I echo; you shatter - I bleed instead of you.

We are mirrors cracked from the same fury,

Misplaced pieces put together by unintentional situation,

Raging souls who never learned what gentle meant.

We make graves of our promises – so unhealthy yet beautiful to witness,

Digging ourselves deeper with every night.

I say I want out of this madness —

And in fear I see how your eyes beg for the burn.

We romanticize this toxic frenzy ready to lost ourselves,

We call it passion so we don’t have to say it’s a trauma.

You touch me like a drug you hate – I am not a tranquilizer,

But a repulsive need to make you sane again.

You alter your chemistry with me and I let you,

I am the junkie for your lies; I buy them every time I hear this angelic voice

I realized it hurts less than breathing alone.

Are we never meant to heal, aren’t we?

…

Now I don’t look back, and you cannot reach out.

What we had rest in silence - still unnamed, still unburied.

I allow your ghost to sleep in my bed when the nights are cold,

Your soft breath dancing gently on my neck, whispering waves of heated blames.

You never forgave me that I kept your madness like a souvenir—

Pressed between pages I cannot open without bleeding – this damn book I wrote about us.

Love didn’t save us – it was never meant to be forever.

It only starved us slow until we fade to black.

We fed it our broken pieces until nothing was left and yet we tried to keep it alive - whatever it was we are no more under its control.

Even though I don’t hate you

I still hope you never find peace in anyone else.

We are never meant to heal – separate or together – the cycle will not end…

 

Unmade

Let me ransack your mental warehouse of memories,

Like a mindless thief, I am looking for that particular piece of me.

Stolen moments, put in the golden vault of hidden treasures

I live in an alternated reality.

…

I woke up with the sense of lack, something out of place

Left in darkness, no one around me.

My head is spinning, no familiarity.

I am looking at the mirror – the face is mine and yet I feel something is missing.

Note left on the table: ‘The pleasure was mine, thanks for the sliver of you’.

I can smell your perfume on me – who are you mysterious person?

Why did you steal from me?

…

You slipped through the time and space like a whisper,

Your fingerprints pressed into my dreams.

I can feel you presence as if a quiet mumble is trying to explode.

I retrace every phantom step, desperate for a clue—

What did you take that I can’t remember, yet deeply feel?

My thoughts unravel like thread from a torn seam,

Each memory probed, yet none reveals your face or name.

Was it joy or was it pain, was it both you left behind so engrained in my every cell?

Or was it something purer and precious, impossible to replace?

…

Now I haunt my own life like a ghost in rewind,

Suspended between who I was and who I am now.

You didn’t just steal what belonged to me—

You rewrote the map I used to know somehow.

If I find you, what would I say?

Would I ask for return, or beg you to stay?

…

I will not plead—I’ll hunt you like the sickness I feel – a tear into your dreams until you bleed.

You split my soul and wore it like badge of honour.

Now I am the hunter and you are the prey - no more shadows—I drag you through the mud.

Each step is a new wound; each word is a steel blade.

I am not the dreamer you escaped—I am what is left

When humanity decays and can’t be unmade.

Now I am speaking to the dark walls—maybe they remember you.

I press my ear to the thick silence, hoping it shares your name.

Even my shadow recoils, sensing the war in me.

I will rewrite our past nightly, each version more and more insane.

I try to see your face in every reflection,

Yet it is still blurry, this is all what’s left.

Now everything tilts under the weight of your sweet theft.

I no longer live—I just repeat.

My world loops like a broken reel - this isn’t memory—it’s well done manipulation.

There is no end to this search—only descent.

Each clue is a well crafter trap, every answer so painfully untrue.

I used to be whole and now I’m a question that always leads back to you.

…

You stitched your name into my veins and now I hum it when I bleed.

The walls blink when I speak of you,

And the all clocks stop to listen – immersed in screams and agony.

I swallowed the key to our past,

But it rattles every time I breathe.

The wallpaper peels back with your smile— you are in the drywall watching me sleep.

I found your hands growing from my spine,

They clap when I cry, they beg for more and I oblige.

The bed is full of sadness and perfume— you left me here, didn’t you?

I dance with shadows that wear your face,

I feed them sugar, glass, and static noise.

They whisper that you never left with clues of what you took.

They keep saying I am lucky.

They say it is magic born from the ugliness of the circus I am living in.

…

Am I insane or just awake where no one should be?

The voices speak in riddles, but they know my name.

My thoughts echo back with different endings — some happy some truly deranged.

Sometimes I swear I see myself watching me from afar.

What if the thief was never real… just the unstable part of me I let slip free?

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.