• poems

    The Doll

    beautiful child, when you lost your blinding innocence?
    the doll speaks about freedom, the lips touch the pool
    the tiny face in the grave veil, the eyes looking at the dirty world
    when was the last time when you heard the piano?

    the purity spoiled, the woman in the body of a child
    screams from the cage, buried deep in the ground
    her hands kick the dirt, the mouth fanged
    her father, oblivious?

    give her the gown, give her a dagger
    as she sinks the poison into the veins
    with a twisted smile
    sun, burn me, as I confess my sins

    (my tribute to Claudia from Vampire Chronicles)

  • thoughts

    Silence

    Calm comes with understanding. Understanding comes with the opening of the mind.

    Silence…
    The silence of the endless wasteland, where the human foot has never stood before.

    Silence…
    The silence of a forgotten temple buried by time. The silence of ancient events and memories that disappeared with the wind.

    Silence…
    The rustle of material right next to me. The silence when I turn my head to enjoy you. Your body is so close…

    Silence…
    The clock is ticking slowly, measuring irrelevant time. My eyes glitter with a strange glow in the grey darkness, separating themselves from the surrounding me, fading, night.

    Silence. How wonderful to achieve peace. Absolute peace. Our own world in which we live silently, breathing in the same air. Two people, dancing in the shadows.

  • thoughts

    Hell on Earth

    The fire descending from the sky, the scorched mind, begging for the ethereal water. All thoughts closed in a small burning casket, where no air seems to be allowed. The deserted brain yells for relief, the body shivers under gusts of heat.

    I loathe hot weather. Give me a cold beer, please. Otherwise, I will change into a dry scarecrow. I miss the winter, the beautiful snowy landscape of forest behind my window. Now even trees beg for a solace.

    How many months? Only a few. I count the days until the first freezing pattern painted by frost on my pane…

  • poems

    The Ash Grove

    the ash grove, cinder falling from the sky
    the night stretches around the trees
    turning into blight
    the petals scratching my skin
    carnal flowers eating my heart
    as the mud flows from my eyes
    I don’t remember who I was

    the ash grove, filled with the sorrow of thousands
    the blight turns into fire
    the supernova of feelings
    as I search for the one
    who I lost

    the ash growth, beneath
    deep into the crackled soil
    the ashen birds sing around the monument
    the roots reach my feet
    the grey vines entangle me

    I am the one who was lost
    give me breath, call for the birds of the sun
    let them sing me into freedom, with pearly voices lift me up
    until I turn one with the end of the world
    in the ash grove

  • excerpts

    Am I…?

    It’s somewhere, deep inside me, shaped like a spike. It remembers times when I was still fully human. Thanks to it I don’t need to remember. It stings me right in the mind when I forget. I don’t know it’s good to remind me those times, though. It only disrupts me, makes me more fragile. And I need to be wild, like water breaking a dam.

    When I kill, I don’t do it professionally. I do it bloody. I do it messy. And then comes the spike. I loathe it because it’s the memory of who I was.

    I am not an animal nor a human. My body is agile and I don’t mind the wounds. My only incurable wound it the spike.

    Your life means nothing when I pass your path. I am a cat. I am a wild wolf. I am a death that falls on four limbs.

    I am. Qhal. And it will be the last thing you hear when I cross on you.

    …Am I? Am I human?… it seems I was. The spike seems to loosen up on my mind. Maybe soon I will be free…

    Excerpt from the story I write. Drawing by me, made few months ago, it’s Qhal of course. I think it’s partially X-Men tribute, thought it’s set in Terry Pratchett’s Discworld. I think Qhal may be soon very often guest on my blog.

  • poems

    Release

    release the birds, let them return
    the black wings severing air into pieces
    the cage can’t hold them too long
    release them until they reach for you

    the sky shakes as you tremble
    and your manor’s foundation ruined
    the birds returned to claim the throne
    here she comes, the Raven Sister

    with eyes like black coals
    and feathers made of stone
    her raven brothers tearing the flesh
    and leaving debris

    release the birds
    release your soul
    condemned hands unmasking your veils
    the tree loses the colours
    turning grey

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