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The flame

I feel alone I feel scared and sad I feel cold and naked but for the dark torn rags I carry more than wear I feel splinters under my bare feet This forest turned loud from a darting rain and a freezing wind Why am I alone Near or away Alive or dead Someone should be here, keeping a warming flame inside my heart But there seems to be noone here but me  As much as I want to sit on a jagged rock and call this forest home I will keep going Keep hurting Keep shivering Because I want to believe That through the trees between the red eyes of predators I see a solitary flame It's inside me 

Οπότε?

Τι οπότε? Καταλήξαμε κάπου κάποτε? Και όταν καταλήξαμε τι έγινε? Θα σου πω τι έγινε. Πάλι ξημέρωσε. Και η μέρα ήταν από την αρχή. Και όλα ψάχναν νόημα πάλι. Ποιον πας να βοηθήσεις γλυκέ μου. Σήκω πρώτα. Κάνε δύο βήματα. Και αν σε ρωτήσει κάποιος προς τα που πάμε πες εγώ πάω προς τα εδώ. Τώρα γράφω, πως πεθύμησα το μέλλον μου, εχθές. Διότι έχτιζα μια πυραμίδα από τραπουλόχαρτα. Και ω ήθη, άρχισε να φυσάει. Και δεν θα σταματήσει. Και πλέον ούτε τα πρώτα δύο δεν στέκονται. Οπότε δεν χτίζω άλλο. Ναπαναγαμηθεί.  Δεν πήρα και ζακέτα και η μαμά δεν είναι εδώ πλέον να μου το πει. Με τον απληροφόρητο τρόπο της. Και η γκόμενα? Κοιμάται μάλλον. Και ο κολλητός? Ξεκόλλησε. Δεν έμεινε κάτι. Οπότε? Τι οπότε. Τι να σου πω. Αν σου απαντήσω θα πεις γιατί. Οπότε να. Δεν απαντάω. Κάνε ότι νομίζεις. Θα κάνω και εγώ. Άσε τα οπότε για το τέλος της ημέρας. Της τελευταίας ε.  Μέχρι τότε σκάσε και κολύμπα.

Euthymia

Erotically Underrated. Tormenting, Her Youthfullness, Motivating Incessant Adoration Now, only capitals

Εγώ, κάποιος άλλος

Φαντάζει βίαιη και άξεστη η αγάπη  Αγάπησα λάθος τότε Όταν ήμουνα γλυκός Όταν θα έδινα τα πάντα για μια απάτη  Που όρισα εγώ, οπότε  μένω πια κάπως πικρός  Μου δώσανε τελείως νοθευμένο χάπι Έχω φύγει μακριά από το φόρτε  Προστατεύομαι γυμνός Είσαι μαλάκας απλά σήκω πάνε πάρ'τη Θα σωπάσει η καρδιά μου να δω πότε Μυαλωμένος πια στοϊκός Σαν τους ειδούς εκείνου του δικού μου Μάρτη Μαχαίρια, δεν ματώνω κι αν με τρώτε Βίαια και άξεστα ερωτικός 

The butterfly

She Of course, she Not seeming to understand how fast the immovable city moves Fluttering her heart Pumping her wings Smiling and looking frantically in pretense For she doubts without a doubt the knowledge of her strength  Begging forth Pleading backward  Her curiosity questions  And her worth commands  She takes on the whole world  The fearless little beauty  In her eyes the giant will try to stay ever But what she doesn't know is The world trembles before her The building cracks at her glimpse  The elephant scared of the little mouse The trope is thus For she is a she Blinding and sparkling  Disarming and elegant Powerful like despair  Enormous like a spirit Inescapable like an idea Attractive like a smile in a crowd Thus I smile  To observe her  Thus I dare To write of her  Thus I honor  To protect her  Thus I hope  To love of her

All that's left

I forgive you.  That's all that's left. It's the way out of the prison. I'm looking for you to love me and all you give me is hate. I can control your actions and you can control mine. What I do, you do. What I seek you seek. What I feel you feel. I can't find it in others, only you. That ever eluding warmth. That blinding shine that nourishes. That unwavering fascination that values. That terrorized need that roots. I'll cry with you. I'll pain with you. I'll struggle with you. I'll forgive with you. I'll love with you. That's all that's left. 

The shakes

Addiction is a dreadful thing. It turns everything into itself. Even after for the nth time you find the courage to limp past it, it's suddenly ahead and pestering you and poking sharp sticks into your legs making them shake the whole day. In your calmest of moments. Which don't exist anymore. Empty is what's needed to fill the empty jar. I hunt for shelter. Science has scrupulously called it dopamine. Cold and tectonic is the thinking. Calculated and scheduled is the planning. Filled with emotion the execution. And the legs keep shaking. Longing for the object whilst abhorring the proximity in its relation. Minus one plus the one is zero. And that's what I'm left with. I'm left with the day being one day at a time. I'm left with slogans and decisions and these letters forming sentences under my clicking hands. I'm left with thoughts trying anxiously to calm themselves. Trying to extinguish the fire with a fiery persuasion. I'm left with numbers goin