Antxnia

Again

I want to explore the human condition

Our flaws, our habits and the inane repetition

The attempt to find meaning in what we do

Thinking you’re better, one of the few

Tight smiles and bonus points for tight arses

Half full and half empty glasses

Couldn’t I just exist with the people I love?

No worries, no drama and no one above?

I want to explore but it’s disappointing and dirty

Career paths, bonds and having it all by thirty

So many attempts to do the same thing differently 

(“I’m worth it, I swear!”) Innovation, the greatest mystery

Each day explores the human condition

For I am a human and this is my condition. 

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Collection of memories and creativity

The Human Is a Queer Creature

The human is a queer creature;
Facilitating a multitude of features.
Stalking by it’s white, white eyes
It lurks on the periphery of nature.
.
This impetuous beast adorns disguise
Colourful and bequeathed  – but full of lies.
Prostration is it’s manipulated display,
Submissive façades shall be our demise.
                                                                                                                                                                                        .
Amassing Himalayas of acidic decay –
This species adores the violent slay.
Revealing in folds  of peculiar routine
I often wonder, to whom does it pray?
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Scarlet Rouge

Success Story

I

She was older than old, ages of years – without any wrinkle. Her voice was her envy and it was loud: day in and day out and through every night without an exception.

Her main concern – however – was to come first.

II

She smelled, I remember, disgusting. She smelled like old ink that never was spilled but always preserved. She stank like a tiny and black and mummified heart that is wrapped in a dress made of dust.

She smelled as if she’d never ever could possibly rot.

III

Her name, though, was love. I killed her last night. Some warned me I would not survive her. But action is how one proves people wrong. No more does anyone knock on my rips from inside. And, which is more: no one will ever again. No longer have I to feel like a dungeon that’s supposed to look after those it surrounds. I broke myself, thus I broke free. Whom I broke free are those within me.

Whatever may beg to be back in the future – I’ll stay happy of loss.

IV

Now: go in and go out as you please. Just if you like leave a comment to me. But not on the walls out of flesh! We have mouths and can speak. Since dark is my blood now. No one will ever correct like a teacher misspellings I’ve done.

For writing is not to be shared.

V

My blood is my own and does not belong to a race; or a group; or a friend; or a hope. It serves only me and touches nothing but paper. Never again I will write red on red: I can write now, and read what I wrote. Sometimes for life a murder must happen within us.

Sometimes for life love has to die.

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