Haunted House

 

Welcome to my haunted house!

Feel the creeping coldness gently kissing your soft skin,

Shiver slowly when the icy breath walks down your spine.

Welcome to my haunted house

Where is hidden the painful pleasure.

Don’t go into the Emerald room on the first floor,

You might find the forbidden desire to undress your soul.

Oh well, my dear, let me look at your naked essence

Stripped from every prejudice built from the outside pressure.

The colourless prudence does not suit you,

Let me take you to the boudoir of colours,

To bathe the in Red of your inner longings,

Pour the Purple of your femininity to this lovely hot tub,

Embrace your darkness – this is the magic of my haunted house.

Then gently add the Blue of your inner strength, feel the tension...

Does it taste too sweet for your liking?

Or maybe take the Green of the unknown forces,

Make it a party game, bathe in the lust you bottle up so hard.

And now rub gently the pink of your innocence on your soft skin,

I want to watch you quiver, align what the body and the soul crave the most.

Be honest with yourself, my haunted house is a safe space,

Entwine yourself around my wicked aura.

Don’t be scared, I won’t bite you yet.

Oh, my dear sinless child, let me show you how wicked you can get,

Drop the act, I am not the Goddess who judge, be truthful to who you are.

Maleficent people are not invited in my haunted house,

I designed this place as magical mirror – to uncover your secret self

And then with the power of every satisfied need to stick to the new You.

…

Welcome to my haunted house!

Some call it the Sinner’s den because every unveiled truth of you

Will force you to embrace the ugliness of your self-oppression

Until you get drunk from all the pleasures and unraveled confidence!

Until you finally accept the power of your inner wickedness,

I will never leave you alone,

I will toy with your quivering body,  

I will play dirty mind games with your spirit until you realize

That my haunted house is the Freedom’s nest

Where all you need to learn is how to be able to express YOUR TRUE SELF!!!

The Mirror and I

 

I am staring  at my reflection in the mirror cold

I don’t look alive nor dead – just extremely powerless and old.

I feel like I have been living a borrowed life

It’s so unfamiliar, it doesn’t feel like it belongs to me.

I bend my head; I cannot face my own gaze;

I am confused – is this my real image?

I have forgotten who I am...

What was the purpose of this existence of mine?

I am staring at my reflection in the mirror cold -

So painfully unknown, so carefully disregarded.

I am so lost; 

I don’t know when I obliterated my identity with such an ease

And in vain I keep screaming who am I?

Empty eyes – no spark detected – robotic glaze;

Mouth deadly shut – stitches gently hug the sealed lips – rag doll…

Is it because of the unspoken anger I have been holding on for far too long?

It is the unbearable fear hidden behind every warm smile – Kabuki Mask so fragile?

Let me look into these eyes again – still barren 

- And I keep asking who am I?

The pale face reflects it all – where is my place beneath the summer sun?

Icy blue eyes – soulless with a hint of self-harm, buried scarlet scars.

Let me circle back to the face - a mare effigy of time passed – all is covered with filth and thorns.

I keep looking in the mirror so bewildered, so mind-blown

How I missed the obvious signs of how slowly I am losing it all;

No happiness, no pain, no memories, no dreams.

Whom to blame for this cruel theft – is it me or someone else?

I keep staring in complete disbelief,

I keep looking for the answers but I am so tired of this game;

I am shattered, I keep falling apart bit by bit - again alone.

I am burned from the inside – all is ashes, all is dust.

And the inner wind is spreading every little piece I have left,

I can’t sustain further in this state any longer, I am completely gone.

….

No fear and no pain, I am the one to blame;

As the proverb says it – ashes to ashes and dust to dust.

My emotionless reflection is my burial ground, no need to commemorate it,

I don’t need symbolical grave stone.

At least now I know who I am – Phoenix is my middle name.

After every struggle I keep coming back stronger,

More agile to my inner torment, better than before.

And I will keep this dark mirror – for my previous selves it means disaster;

For my new reincarnations it means HOPE.

The Doll And The Soul

 

She was standing still there on display of the big shop windows and watched the people passing by – some of them smiled, others cried and some of them with the concerned and worried faces. She was longing to feel the sweetness of the soul. She was watching people day after day and her desires grew bigger. As for her face, it remained porcelain white, expressionless and cold. People kept passing her by because of her abnormal beauty.

These routine days were endless until one day a small girl stopped in front of the window and stared at her – dark-haired, fare face with big sad emerald green eyes, torn clothes and dirty small hands. The small girl looked and smiled. Her dream was to look like the doll – slender body, shiny dress and transparent glass-like slippers – just like a princess from the fairy tales. She was smitten by the doll’s flawless face. She looked at the price knowingly that she cannot afford this beautiful doll and at the moment she realized that she could never have it, tears kept on rolling her innocent face. She had the feeling that the doll’s piercing blue eyes stared at her but they were empty, lacking compassion or any emotions, beautiful drownings but just that. And just like that the girl left.

Suddenly the doll felt pain as if a wooden steak went through her plastic ribcage.  She thought what was this feeling. She had never felt anything before and she was puzzled of the sudden change of her boring and predictable days. During the next couple of days, the little girl kept coming to visit her and to admire of her plastic beauty. A month passed by and the girl finally came with enough money to buy this dream toy. And she bought it.

The moment she went out of the shop, the girl smiled with a bright face and huge smile. Her green eyes looked even brighter on the sun. She could hear the music in her ears and she happily skipped to the park and sat on a bench. There was a cardboard covered in black plastic bags next to the bench. The little girl sat on the bench holding tightly the doll in her tiny hands admiring the sunny day. and out of nowhere, the doll spoke with a human voice:

-        What is the feeling of having a soul? How does it feel to love and hate? How does it feel to be happy and sad?

Surprisingly, the doll had picked the human language while they were passing by the store or they entered in and shopped for gifts. These words were meaningless to her but she was curious of their meaning. Then the little girl answered with a heavy voice:

-        My name is Lilly and you don’t want to have a soul. You don’t really want to feel what is love or hate; you don’t want to feel what I am feeling right now. However, I can tell you what is to feel hunger and what is to feel well fed, what is sadness and what is happiness. I can tell you everything.

The doll was excited and shook her head agreeing to hear everything. Then Lilly continued:

-        I had everything a child could wish for – a home – beautiful big house with tons of rooms, a family devoted to me and making sure that I feel secure and carefree. But then Dolly, I am calling you Dolly, then the life changed its course and took everything I have hold dear. The fire broke and burned down my home and everyone in it. When I returned to my home I only found ashes and nothingness. I was placed in one of those orphanages where children without families live. But I hated it and I escaped. I chose to live here, next to this bench begging for food and money, not knowing what the next day is holding for me; not knowing if I am going to survive the night or not. I am constantly mocked by the other people, those who have all they need. When the nights are cold, I am shivering and wondering if I can make it through the next day or not. But the worst pain of all is that I don’t have anyone to talk to, to share, to feel secure with, to relive the carefree days oblivious about any misfortune on the world – just be back to those happy days. However, days passed and I lost my hope for better life. I guess it is what it is.

-        What is Hope, Lilly? I have never heard about it.

-        Hope is this little thing keeping us alive. When it’s hard, the Hope grows bigger and it dies alongside our last dream departure. The hope gives us strength to face our fears and push through the worst moments in our lives. Unfortunately, our lives are not like the stories from the books – sometimes we don’t get our happily ever after, all we get is endless desperation and sadness.

Once those words went out of the child’s mouth, she started crying. The pain came back; the warm memories overtook for a while but the harsh reality caught up and took the hopes away.

-        I want to possess a soul! – the doll exclaimed, touched by the wisdom of the girl. – I want to be just like you – to feel, to dream, to love and to feel sad. I want to buy the soul but I don’t know where I can purchase it. I really want it.

Lilly looked at her confused and amazed at the same time. She didn’t understand neither how a doll can talk nor the passion and the desire to become a fragile human. She was puzzled how a toy can be so thrilled for things that it can fathom.

The day was over and the night sky was up. Lilly was tired from this day’s interesting turn. She got in the “house” and laid her head on the makeshift pillow, she covered herself and the doll with the old and dirty blanket and fell peacefully asleep. Then Dolly got up on her perfect legs and went out of the cardboard house and started walking through the dark alleys of the park. She saw a bench, climbed up and sat on it. She stared at the bright night sky and kept thinking about the soul and how wonderful it would have been to have one. She was tired of how people looked at her – a beautiful addition to every girl’s room. While she was thinking about it, a falling star appeared on the sky. She had come to the knowledge that if you see falling star and you wish for something, it will become true.

…

Lilly woke up on the next day. She couldn’t find the doll and her eyes were full of tears, her heath sank – she was alone, again. Even though she had Dolly for a day, she missed her – the first meaningful friend in such a long time. She felt the time spent with the doll as a small glimpse of light during the blackness of the moonless night – it appears once and never to return again. In the meantime, the plastic beauty was laying beneath the bench – covered in dirt and abandoned -  still hoping to buy a soul more than anything in this world.

Fairytale Gone Bad

 

“Mirror, mirror on the wall, who is the fairest of them all?”

This question echoes in our minds starting the constant comparison

Between me and them – whoever, I find as completion for the current situation.

“Mirror, mirror on the wall, who is the fairest of them all?”

I can translate it to my life of race with a different time lines, all of them not mine.

Nothing is enough, I need to push through a bit more,

The finish line is near; I need to compete.

…

The life of constant marathon is so extremely tiresome,

My head can’t stand the quiet room – I need this done.

Define what is the end game of all these pushes,

Define your goal – you can’t, your mind is wired this way – so as mine.

Unable to sit and doing nothing, seeking for the adrenaline,

Generation taught to never get some rest,

We walk in our daily life aimless and lost,

Because our parents never showed us the importance of slowing down

Before the final push is on our way.

And I roam the streets stressed and exhausted,

I am feeling guilty that I won’t be able to take the first place.

…

Life of not taking it easy is a dangerous path,

Depression and anxiety are always present,

My companions from the early days when I have heard the words

That Evil Queen has been asking herself – perfection is set to be achieved.

And unlike most little children I have felt for the Queen,

That all her efforts were in vain.

But the life is not a fairytale – stop teaching your children

That the good should always prevail – what is actually the ultimate Good.

I have heard the villains are heroes never saved, never understood.

The real life is not so simple, what about the Evil Queen?

Have you really known the real ending of story?

The Queen was tortured by the so soft and gentle Snow White – the sweetest heroine.

And just like the Evil Queen I am constantly portrait like I am villain,

Simply because I know what I want.

And just like her I pursue my goals, I love my career,

And just like her I am so cold-hearted – determined is what I would describe it.

And just like her I am vilified that I don’t fit the mold forged

By those who try to overpower the determination of the woman’s mind.

…

“Mirror, mirror on the wall, who is the fairest of them all?”

I am the one, my sweet reflection, never doubt your own reality.

We are the queens and kings in our own misfortunes,

As well as we are the Queens and Kings of our own fulfilled dreams.

Display of Pain

 

Let’s begin from where we ended it the last time,

Carefully forgotten our wounds and scars.

Let’s begin from where we ended it the last time,

Where there is no light, just endless darkness,

Where it poisons the soul, enhances the loneliness and kills the hope.

Let’s begin from where we ended it the last time,

Where everything ends and new beginning doesn’t exist.

….

The white reflection in the mirror blinds the eyes

And somehow bashful – reluctantly

The Blindness “clothes" us gently.

How does it look like the invisible image?

How does the suffering feels like? – Grey in color.

…

 Let’s begin from where we ended it the last time,

Carefully forgotten our wounds and scars.

We cover them with multiple masks and make-up,

We pretend we are on stage performing a world class act

And when the play is over, we realize how cruel we have become.

Where are we going to end up living in an endless denial

Of the monsters we have turned into

– a horror movie on the small screen?

…

And we are trapped in the old webs of delusion,

Refusing to admit the mistakes, we keep committing sins towards ourselves.

And we keep dismissing the chaos of our wrong doings,

As if we don’t exist in flesh and blood, as if we are an old painting

Hanging on the walls of these ancient castles

– The Gallery of Self-inflicted Pain!