32 twisted turns
- Things that I like
- I am not an actress
- The never-read poem
- Thirteen ways of looking at your corpse
- I will tear you apart on my own, so you will stop breathing, having convulsions lying in my arms. I will bury you next to my old house, without any memorial, without a “happy” photograph, with no flowers. I will bury you on my own. Leaving your beating heart in my jewellery box
- Dedicated to my dear no one
- Life is a mess – they said
- DIY
- In the world’s flat
- He said ”no”
- Autumn days
- 420 sec
- Silent life
- Sick people
- YOU LOST. WANT TO PLAY AGAIN?
- Hey mom
- Have you ever asked yourself what is
- The idea of Order at Villars-sur-Ollon
- What else could I possibly think of
- We buried Her in the forest by my house
- The Storm
- Bulky. Buried under the rat sky
- When I stare in the mirror sometimes I see Her staring back with these water drops eyes and little Mona Lisa smile. I wonder if that’s too much to be an individual and not enough to be a person.
I wonder if that’s how other people see themselves, reflected in this almost ideal surface, not alive.
And I also wonder why I always see Her and not me. I never believed when He said She reminded me so much.
Maybe that is exactly the false reason of Him saying ”we” need to take a pause.
A pause from reality I ask Him. He never answers. When we first met after 3 years long marathon of love, candles which smelled too sweet but I never complained, of kisses that used to leave wet spots on my cheeks, of beautiful but fake words that He used to love as much as my parents hated Him, I couldn’t make myself say anything. I stared at His grave and didn’t say a word. I didn’t cry even when I saw Her grave for the first time.
I only cried when I realized there was no space left for me. No place for my grave - Post mortem
- Heartless
- The screen of my laptop became not black
- Ink
- Arabica
- Medical education
- Nursery house
- Drip Drip
- Russia somnos mittantur in corde meo