Things my mind makes up.

I betray myself every day, I keep managing to get in my own way I’m full of pain and I don’t know how to heal myself. It’s excruciating at times. The only presence I feel within myself is pain and sadness. As if the screams of the universe are echoing my own. I live forever scarred in this existence I call home. For now, at least, I must survive through this confusion And shatter this reality that is, in fact, just an illusion As if the shinning sun is mirroring my brightness, That I have forgotten deep inside, living in my sadness. Until I learn the ways my soul has made for me: To shine brighter than the stars, from here to infinity And yet, I write, unaware of my own true nature Walking in the dark, so slowly, evolving for my future. When these words will be a beautiful reminder Of the reason I’m here, to simply meander. As if these words, written today on this paper Are showing me the way to become something greater To become myself, as I...

Nu mai străluciti, voi, stele? Unde vă e-acum lumina? Prin miliardele de ere Vi sa ars din voi făclia.. Nu mai strălucesti, tu, soare? Și să arzi aprins, ca focul? Dup-atația ani de zile Ți-ai pierdut și tu azi locul.. Dar tu, inimă ce-ai fost aprinsă Nici un soare, nici o stea Din univers desprinsă Nu iți intrecea lumina Dar, De tristețe-ai fost cuprinsă Și de patimi ai fost stinsă.. Și sa stins din mine soare Și sa stins din mine stea Invinsă. Nu rămane dacât șoapta O făclie ruginită Nu rămane decat noaptea O făcile rătăcită Dar, de unde vine focul? Și de unde vin și stele? Și de unde își au locul, Dorul și patimile mele. Și se-aprinde, mă cuprinde Dragostea de dinainte O făclie, de iubire, Arde-acum adânc în mine Fără de oprire.

Patrick has called. Elric did something again, and this time, it wasn't  something trivial from his tone. I pulled up my car in the alleyway in front of the old stone mansion that once belonged to Patrick’s employer, hoping this matter wouldn't  make things so much worse than they actually are. A half bald man in his sixties exists the house to meet me followed by three beautifully dressed young girls. “I hope your trip wasn't  too unpleasant” said Patrick, smiling at me. His smile however, showed no hint of being upset. It would seem his quarrel with Elric couldn't  have been that much of a problem after all. “I would like you to meet the girls.” As soon as he uttered those words, the oldest one takes a step forward; “My name is Angela” “Hello Angela” I reply while shaking her hand. “I.. “ she mutters “have bloodluss” I stumbled in my words. That was Eric’s disease and, as far as I know, only transmitted through blood. Or sex. I smile, sweat s...

As I lay here dying, my soul slowly departs To fly free again over castles, ramparts, Over plain of lush green, unbound and free Into the unforeseen, way above the sea. As I lay here dying, my heart slowly fades Into oceans of love and of freedom, not graves Made of selfish desires that chew innocence, Cleansed now in fire, rid of my insolence, Into skies so blue, my eyes can’t behold To the mightiest heavens with stories untold. As I lay here dying, my mind now awake, Flies away to the mountains I’ve left in my wake, To the rivers that flow, eternal and swift, To the lights that glow, the stars in the rift. As I lay here dying, I saw a light Prepared for ending, for pain or delight, Prepared for questions I ache to know To be answered kindly, like the falling of snow. As I lay here dying, I saw a hand Who gently caressed me, and then, a command: To rise up from my dying, my aching, my sleep, And fight for the restless, the kind and th...

If the world was written in sand Then everything that was built by hand Would be washed away, with every wave: What we speak, how we often behave If the world was written on wood Then everything that is then could Drift away on an endless ocean Every thought, every emotion If the world was written on paper Then everything that was saved for later Could be lost in a blazing fire Like the sins we so harshly desire If the world was written on glass Then everything could easily pass Unnoticed, and, so easily shattered Like the tears that often are scattered If the world was written on ice Then everything that would suffice Would melt in an ocean of grief Filled with fear and with no relief If the world was written on stone Then everything that could have been blown Would remain, endlessly present Like our love, our kindness, our heaven If the world was written like this, Then everything would have been bliss. Yet, the world...

Why I love to work in a coffee shop? At the beginning, I thought of it as just a regular job, mundane, repetitive, boring.  Yet, soon enough, I found my reason to push through. And here is my answer: Because sometimes I see people, broken, sad and lonely silently shouting for help from anyone who is there to listen. And no one around them cares. And no one around them hears their scream, their pain. They all look away. Because when some people say hello, they ask for an end to all their loneliness and suffering, for all their endless screams to finally be heard and answered.  To finally have someone to cry onto. Because, I can answer back with my heart and look their way, notice their screams, their pain, their scars they thought were in vain. Because, I can say hello back, and give them hope that humanity is not dead and shines still. Why do I love to work in a coffee shop? Because I feel alive.

    I feel like there is something fundamentally broken within me, something I feel I need in order to survive this world, to survive life.     And yet, I don't know what it is.     I don't know what pushed my heart to the brink of extinction every time I feel something. Every time I get remotely close to someone that feels like me.      I thrive in emotion.     Without it, I am no one. A lifeless entity amidst the dead in our shattered society. Yet all I feel is pain. My pain                               Their pain     I would sometimes crawl into the first safe place I saw and scream. Cry my emotions away. It happens a lot. Too many times, I would say.     But, weirdly, I enjoy it, knowing that this is me. A broken me, yes, but I have no masks here. I am free.  Stopping it feels like murder.      Y...