The Three Circles of Shame

 

Have you ever felt drained from all the mundane tasks?

Have you ever felt the torment of your existence?

Have you ever felt the same even after deadly storms and beautiful disasters?

Have you ever felt insane just by looking at your reflection in the dirty mirror?

Have you ever felt abandoned even if you are surrounded by your people?

Have you ever felt the cold touch of some invisible hand?

Have you ever felt that your brain is at the verge of its rational resistance?

Have you felt alone walking through the thorny road in search of answers

If you were broken-born or you are a product of the damaged ones?

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Have you ever noticed the first sign – the isolation is your power,

Pushing everyone aside, making them feel worthless, useless?

Have you ever felt the joy of feeling annihilated, shattered, damaged

And with a smile on your face accepting that you are wicked?

Have you ever noticed the second sign – the pain doesn’t kill you,

What is dead cannot be killed or resurrected, a shameful sin?

But you are not bothered how you are the odd one in the crowd of copy-paste,

You don’t mind to stand tall while the others are falling.

Have you ever noticed the third sign – you don’t care if the world crumbles beneath your feet,

You are ready to face the Death – not like an enemy, more like a friend?

Have you ever felt like the villain of your own story?

No, you are not creature of unsound mind, you promised yourself never again.

…

Three signs, three oddities – these are part of us all.

What does it mean you are whole?

Three traits of disturbed soul, overburdened from all loss and gain

Throughout a lifetime of impossible expectations, a lifetime full of pain.

Three characteristics dark, hidden in the depths of every soul.

Some hide them, some express them with a heart full of pride and joy!

The Castles

 

On this beautiful piece of land, I have built the stone castle to protect my soul

Not to be robbed nor attacked from ill intentions at every possible moment.

It's not impossible to enter, but I will never give the key or share the main road.

Are you ready to enter? Do you dare to accept this challenge?

I have created those breathtaking murals inside these walls

Just to share a piece of myself with myself only.

You can call it art, if you are brave enough, but it's private, just like the real me.

The caste and the mirror, the fairy tale of Snow White in the modern age.

But instead of evil witch and pure maiden, the plot twist is that they both are me.

Mirror, mirror on the wall, who will hurt me the most of them all?

No happy end, I am the creator almighty, the narrator with sweet voice.

This story is over, let's move on the next.

…..

High, high up in the bright blue sky; I have built the glass castle.

So transparent, so light like my soul – free-spirited, gentle, carefree.

You need to climb the slippery glassy stairs, an abject attempt to reach me.

I cannot be touched so easily; I have seen the ugliness of the land.

The second home I have created for those who manage to get

Through the roughness of my character, for those who accept my sharp tongue.

But don’t think this route is not that dangerous, I made it full of obstacles.

This is to protect the softness of my spirit, I want me to roam free

Where I am bound to nothing, just like a flying bird

I can see the world from different perspective.

But the story of black swan is a tragic one as well, don’t get carried away.

Who said my aim is the so desired happy-ending?

…

In the end, with my last drops of will powers, I have built the sand castle.

It is near the deep, deep sea, always in fear of get buried beneath

The huge waves of emotional damage and distress.

This one is not a piece of art like the other two.

This one is made from every tear, shattered dream, broken promise,

Loss and awfully painful memories.

This one is my reminder to my future self how fragile a human being is

When the storm comes from all the hidden horizons, beyond the sea line.

The shoreline is my grave place, no tombstones, no crosses, no marks.

We are born alone and alone we die in the comfort of our homes,

Before the mirror on the wall, with head bend; filled with shame.

The truth is ugly, I lost most of my battles - 

Constant wars between the sanity of my mind and the craziness of my heart.

One shall always prevail upon the other and causes all the doubts and pain.

And when the lifetime is about the end,

I just need to be sure I haven’t lived in vain…

…

Three castles, three complex personalities, constantly competing 

Which one is on charge, with “best interest” agenda.

Inner fight for survival between the strength of the human body, the fragile mind and reappearing consciousness,

The struggle of self-acceptance and self-love.

The Swansong For the Forelorn

 

Many, many moons ago I devoted you all I had

With a simple promise of new light, new happiness, new life.

But the darkness fell upon us with a single blast

With the unfaithful pleasure, with the pure lust.

In the middle of fake joy and passion, I got lost,

You could say I was completely blind.

Many, many moons ago I decided with a heavy heart

That it all was my fault, it was my demise.

But I refused to believe how a person can pretend

For so long unnoticed as if I was the only one playing this sad tango.

With all of my pure intentions, I believed that one can change…

All they need was to love them harder,

As if I breathe for two not one, as if I dream for two, as if it was enough.

…

Many, many moons ago I have granted the permission

To someone so beloved and he destroyed me.

And I hated how that person made me feel, how unwanted I was.

Many, many moons ago my joyful self was stained with shame

And turned down the flame of the cheerful being!

Drowned in sorrow,

Poisoned with lies,

Completely forlorn,

Left in pain...

…

Now many moons and suns have passed,

My soul has changed.

Now the light is gone for good,

I have turned it into a blackness,

Demons roam around my soul,

They called it eternal pleasure house,

My hell has turned into a comfy home,

No one else tortures, I command.

No angels are allowed, it’s an emotional desert.

And curses are my poetry of long forgotten love,

There is no desire to turn it back to what is used to be.

Let me bring back your nightmares as you have helpfully done to me.

…

Don’t say you feel sorry, emotions like this are like a weed for your well-being.

Don’t say you feel sorry, because we both know you are not.

In the end what used to be my weakness is now your eternal hell.

I can dance on your feelings like a feather lost its course

But in the end, I am the one winning the stupid love game.

I see through your deception as if I have made it for you

Now your strengths are your weaknesses 

And I am the one who call the quit.

The Performace

 

When the curtains fall and the light hits the stage,

Don’t get nervous, let the show begin.

Perform like you never did, put on all masks.

First start with the face you have created for the happiness

You have never felt but faked as a masterpiece.

They have never grown to love it – make them angry.

Then switch to the sad face they adore,

Leave it there for a while, make them feel they won.

A good performance shows the face of the man given up,

Fallen victim of somebody’s dirty schemes.

Keep performing even if it’s hard, this stage is unusual.

It’s time to shift from pain to pleasure,

Show them so called slutty face, make them feel uncomfortable

For all the caused shame, for every gossip they have created

Keep giving them the lust blazing in your eyes.

And finally don’t forget to give them Hell,

Realize their scariest nightmares, make them feel insane.

Keep playing they are now your puppets,

Pull the strings even harder, you hold them in your palm.

Let them feel the tears shed when no one was around,

Let them feel the wounds they have inflicted,

Let them pay you every walk of pain.

Let them taste the bitterness of their pill.

Let them feel the weakness, let them feel incomplete.

But you are not a monster; you are not like them.

You are the fantasy of their sick and twisted minds,

You are projection of their deepest desires,

You are torturer, the head demon of their inner Hell.

I am not the same as I used to be

 

I am not the same as I used to be.

I evolved to a new breed – cunning and cold.

I am not the same as I used to be,

I turned into a piece of ice –  beautiful and fragile,

But in nature what looks delicate is the vicious killer,

Merciless soul, no heart, pure surviving skills.

I am not the same as I used to be,

I remember the painful past,

The glimpses of the blinding light,

The forbidden darkness’ kisses,

The exhausting talks with the inner demons,

And the quarrels with the angels weak.

I can truly guarantee history won’t repeat itself,

I remember everything.

I keep the tokens of the previous lives,

I relieve the hidden memories every time I close my eyes.

…

My body keeps aching when I go back to those moments,

Vivid paintings of an artist unknown.

My soul vibrates with the sorrows and laughs from the past times of what I used to be,

She is no more – just a shadow lurking behind my back.

Her voice is so distant, never comes any closer.

Her music is that nostalgic sound from what is left behind,

I can barely hear the melody composed in the moments of unwanted weakness.

…

I am not the same as I used to be,

The heart is hardening; noone I believe.

The loneliness of past tense is the wanted present friend.

The future is unsure; why should I worry?

The darkness of the fragile mind and the innocence forgotten long ago

Keep creating moving stories, filling eyes with tears.

I am not the same as I used to be,

My angel and my demon merged into one face

And that face is ME.