like a fresh sheet of ice
on a remote pond,
another layer of you
is discovered.


– Chatty Owl –



I remember the odour
of your leather
while deafening German sounds
were slowly killing me
with a desire
to never stop kissing you.
I remember the scent
of your embraces,
they felt like you
were borrowing my life
for some freak show.
Years later,
I’m here again,
in the sweet spot
of square one –
same name,
different letters,
and yet another indescribable feeling
of loss,
just in reverse this time.
I looked up to you
so much,
it started to feel
like a hungover cocktail
of hot and cold.
more than by any other experience
in the past,
I finally overdosed.
On you.
And it seemed like a such good decision.

– Chatty Owl –


That new feeling
of opening my eyes
and wanting to •not• die.

I silence my needs
with my own hand,
as if wanting to feel
what it is like
to feel them drip
between my fingers.

I’m drunk
on your ruptured love,
and I’m sober
because of the lack of mine.

Months and months
I spent watching
eat me from the inside.
Holes in my words
were making more holes in them,
and I was deteriorating
from within.
I still feel
the sting of your words
the taste of my own ones,
stuck in my throat.

Like the smell of the sea.

I constantly look for you(r)
I substitute this strong feeling
with a physical need.

You know,
I would kiss
every man in this world,
if it meant
I would feel at least half
what it was to be with you –
imaginary moments.

My days became a ghost town,
where I walk alone,
thinking about those split seconds
when I gave myself to you,
and didn’t even dare to think
I’d be eaten alive.

– Chatty Owl –


Bright peachy walls that 

guarded my youthful birdiness once –

I still remember reasons 

why green was my favourite colour,

and how I played keys

while looking at instructions,

and how I disliked the melted river

of milk chocolate on my tongue…

as if trying to rebel

against the recipe 

of how to be a child.

Leather-bound coins 

and little front pockets

were my weekly reminders 

that I’m still breathing.

Together with stains 

on my maroon clothes 

that I carefully inspected

with my fingers.

I never managed to wash 





I drifted 

between poverty of feelings 

and the need to find compassion.

I gullibly trusted my intuition 

that sometimes 

just failed me –

like an exam I didn’t care to study for.

Always drifting,

always trying to find 

that perfect spot in life,

and make it my best friend.

That only one.

There were bars on my window

when I tried to breathe in 

the winter air,

and I still remember the smell

of the morning snow, 

mixed with metal,


watching others 

enjoying the freedom of coldness. 

So I created mine indoors. 

Freezing my heart with indifference 

and preserving the purity 

of the iron untouchability. 

Alone was my middle name,

a symphony written for one. 

Nobody liked me,

yet everybody loved me. 

They still do. 

It’s time for that girl to come back.

– Chatty Owl –


No, this is not for you.
It’s not for him either.
This one is for
Getting words out from me is
I part
my lips,
but I don’t part with my secrets freely.
An open conversation with me
is like slitting fish –
difficult to grasp,
difficult to maintain,
you still can’t resist to get your hands
on the sight of a bleeding sun,
I count all those moments
that made me think
of you.
Little acts of kindness
were like magnetic light –
yet it resembled that sensation you get
when you stumble in the dark,
trying to find a familiar object.
An enigmatic quest
of lost surroundings.
This moment right now.
I want you to ask me,
if this is for you.
I want to stare at you in reply
and mutedly nod.
And I want the movement of my head
to be the answer that I’m lying.

– Chatty Owl –


I’ve cut the moon open,
so I could see you,
enveloped in a white cloth of light
from a leaking sky.
A premonition of you as the black horse
was right in front of my eyes –
an alluring distraction,
that turned out to be as annoying
as an itchy paper cut.

The feeling
of a fog-wet grass around my ankles
reminds me
of your shy attempts to hug me,
wishing it will spark the fire between us,
I remember feeling lukewarm already.
Just from the thought of it…

you make one step back,
then forward –
a zigzag of intercrossing intercourse,
that always tasted better in reverse.
Resentfully unsure,
you blend into a thick fog,
giving me that content sense of relief.

Don’t waste your imagination on me,
my tolerance is never coming back.

– Chatty Owl –


Echoes of soft ripples in the night,
like waves that lick against
the shores
of my mind and body,
lighting my eyes
(the way only you can),
and guiding you to me
in an ocean of smiles
and uncontrollable kisses –
you don’t have to say a word,
your mouth writes vast seas upon my lips,
and my tongue replies in swirls
and eddies of wet touches.

Your everything
is an instant reflection of my desires –
your fingerprints on my spine
leave salt-stained proof
of my happiness.
I insist on keeping you close to my breath,
because I can’t get enough
of the sin you leave inside me,

Beads of sweat,
like little crystal balls,
soak up our memories of this night,
recording the passion,
to tell it in the future, so
we would never forget
where I belong –
drifting endlessly
in your arms…

– Chatty Owl –