MECHANICAL

Simultaneously
I hug my loneliness and offer my body to you.
The need to have your hand on my face
is so overwhelming,
my eyes are begging you to

hit me,
wipe my tears,
touch my cheek while you look away.

Anything,
as long as I get the physical expression of what you call
a lustful attention.
The minute I wake up,
I want to replicate the fantasies in my head,
thinking that if I act long enough,
my life will become a pool of petal-filled happiness.
Pretty as a snowflake
and cold as a thousand of them,
I learn lessons of life
the hard way.
One step forward and three back –
that’s the pace of the mechanical love.
Poisoned with apathy,
I stare at pictures of myself,
while my fingers are busy picking cogs
out of my favourite clock.
Time becomes irrelevant,
when your life is inked with misfortune.

– Chatty Owl –

SPLIT IN TWO

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.
Consumed,
more than by any other experience
in the past,
I finally overdosed.
On you.
And it seemed like a such good decision.

– Chatty Owl –

MOTHS

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
moths
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
and
the taste of my own ones,
stuck in my throat.

Salty.
Like the smell of the sea.

I constantly look for you(r)
replacement,
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
of
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 –

MISPLACED INSTRUCTIONS

No, this is not for you.
It’s not for him either.
This one is for
my-
self.
Getting words out from me is
art.
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,
yet
you still can’t resist to get your hands
dirty.
High
on the sight of a bleeding sun,
I count all those moments
that made me think
low
of you.
Little acts of kindness
were like magnetic light –
intoxicating,
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.
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 –

SUSPENDED OCEAN

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 –

A GIRL FROM SCRATCH

“You want to save me?” I ask,
as I’m suffocating
in the complexity of this sadness.

There is nothing to recover any more,
my dear.
I’ve infiltrated my simple body
with an intricate mind,
and the result was
an endless sandstorm –
dry and gritty ashes
of what’s left of us.
It hugged me
with its coarse hands
and left my skin grazed, raw and exposed.

“Can you describe love?” you ask,
but I’m having trouble answering you.

I stare in the opposite direction,
words whirling inside me
like a devilish blizzard,
as I attempt to find
the most appropriate definition
known to me.

“It’s a sexual penetration of emotions”,
I finally decide,
closing my beautiful mouth shut for good.

– Chatty Owl –

AUTUMN

Coldness comes
in waves of colour and sound,
and
I often imagine myself,
barefoot,
in a pile of leaves,
waiting for you to come to me,
to be an echo of that one evening
that I can’t forget.
I want to embrace the approaching winter
with a thought
that you’ll stay that way forever –
an idol.
A never-ending mirage.
Like the sound of horses in the distance,
our days disperse
further and further apart.
Little disappointing actions
turn into a map of roads
that were never meant to intersect.
I tried so hard
(or maybe not enough)
to keep my head full of dreams
and my heart free of remorse,
that I forgot to forget
that you are just a reverie.

– Chatty Owl –