Category Archives: creative-writing

creative-writing, Fiction & Poetry, fiction and poetry, Life, lost, Love, Poems, Poetry, Writings

Metalhead

99-koncert-baciary-w-zakopanem

Red lights devour the earthly silence,
crushed bits of half scribbled lyrics
lie all over the floor consumed by the unseen darkness.

the smell of the warm untouched beer disappears
as I hear someone scream with an agony and a common distaste
for this sinking society, for wars, for people,
on my speakers.

It is a gift sometimes
when after a shitty tiring day
you don’t have to scream your lungs
out, you don’t have to thrash things,
you don’t have to think of death:
someone records and does it for you.
You just have to listen.

I believe there is no god,
just a few men and women
who show us the death, without the fear
tickling our spine through their dark
melodies and works.

I live another new day,
I hide another terrible scream,
I switch to the next song.
I am a Metal-Head.

 

 

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creative-writing, Fiction & Poetry, fiction and poetry, Life, Love, Poems, poetry, think

Ashes of the Asylum

Even the benevolent breeze
spares the scattered ashes
of what was once an asylum
for flesh and bones trapped
within wandering souls.

They told me in school
that red and green fuses to yellow
but all I can see are the dark ashes,
the remains of the magnificent tree.

The birds cannot rest,
the dogs are dying of heat
and I can’t write my poems,
for I was a patient of that asylum,
it caressed my sanity every evening.

My poems have nowhere to go,
they don’t hide in the branches as they used to,
now they hide within me
and I hide inside them.

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creative-writing, dream, Fiction & Poetry, fiction and poetry, Life, Poems, Poetry, sadness

A 4 Euro Smile

I frantically search it
in the mirrors,
it isn’t there.

Dusted family albums
leaves no trace of it.

I remember well,
I did not leave it outside last night.
I wasn’t that drunk.

My dog cannot search it,
he stupidly barks.

The Beer does not bring it back
nor does the water,
neither does the chocolates

this light and the darkness,
the sun and the moons,
my entire childhood,
they have no answers,
no fucking clue.

But only one question for me.

Why don’t you just buy it again?

– Smile.
A Mask of Happiness.
A Breeze of Contentment.
A Light of Hope.
A Kiss of Success.

Just buy it.
Fake it.
Live it.
As you do it every other day.

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creative-writing, Fiction & Poetry, fiction and poetry, Life, Love, pain, Poems, Poetry

Catharsis

swarm

My restless memories
of the most beautiful time gone by
were like colonies of dragonflies,
iridescent and precious.

I clung to them,
for months
feeding of the unreality
they served me in the brightest daylights
and the end of the darkest hours

It was a never-ending carnival,
with my eyes shut off.
A rain that never stopped caressing my lips.
A kiss I couldn’t forget.
A dream close to reality.

It was too late
when I realized:

The most beautiful things should burn first
for the catharsis of a delusional mind.

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creative-writing, dream, Fiction & Poetry, fiction and poetry, Heart, Life, Love, Poems, poetry

Split

Hymn those verses
as eyes dive into this
seminal darkness.
the very ones I always hear
and forget
at the end of the dreams.

Build a crown of wood,
and lit it up for those
eager to taste it.

Split the fire
into two parallel mirrors:
power and desire.
let me see the anatomy
and the invisible bones.

They shall keep burning each other
till they forget their purpose,
as the mind and the soul forget
when awaken by the rain of blood.

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beauty, creative-writing, Fiction & Poetry, fiction and poetry, Heart, Life, Poems, poetry, sadness

3:01 am

At 3:01 AM
I always get washed up
by the tides of dreams
to the shores of reality
where sands of my existence
stick as a scar on my face
and now the oceans of dream
can’t wash it off.
It just burns when I try
scars turn to identity
stupor becomes vigor.

Aligned and disoriented stars
burn with renewed malignancy
for the dreams I had.

It must be lonely up there,
I wonder if they ever dream,
I wonder if they ever love.

With nothingness paralyzing my head
and spreading like fire
I give in to this void
from where I was born,
where I would die
where I would now exist
for this rest of the night.

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creative-writing, Fiction & Poetry, fiction and poetry, Life, Love, Poems, Poetry

Warm Guilts

Love is a warm misunderstood guilt
that floats below a bridge of flammable dreams.

To cross,
jump and swim
there has been no other way.

Walk then if you can,
crawl if you must,
into the thousand brewing mirages.
Each withholds a memory, recycled,
for love is to remember and never forget.

For the faint hearted:

Phoenixes are extinct,
in this sea of fire.

SB

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