ambiguous-transparency:

The bruise on my left temple blooms; 
all those breaths from the bouquet of baby’s breath 
penetrate the discolored lake spreading like passion.

You dug me a grave under my tongue to silence me
and threw the shovel down my windpipe as I screamed 
for mercy, just another second of second-thoughts but 
your malice nibbled at my heart, broke the veins free.

Am I still your best poem? Am I still your winning hand? 
I found myself driving without a fate on a deserted road, 
memories leaking from both my eyes until they turned 
dry and red, red and dry like overused wells, I ache for you.

You threw me away, but found me when my skin burned 
under the moon’s shadow and colored my scars gray.

Am I your darkest hour? 
Am I your ambiguously transparent jackpot? 
You are the tombstone inked on my fingernails, 
greedily poisoning my touches until you know I’m yours.

Am I your best poem written with a winning hand 
in the darkest hour, about an ambiguously transparent jackpot? 

ambiguous-transparency:

Some days I cough to the taste of memories, 
let all yesterdays build up in my throat until 
they are not sad anymore and I bury my tears 
underwater, hoping to saturate my liquified mind.

This life is too loud and I cannot hear with my right 
ear; there is something so ineradicably carnal about 
the way you keep your head up, above your seemingly 
strong shoulders; I break down with your smiles because 
even the lies seem like truth when said with your voice. 

I am not too sorry I place myself under the pressure of 
perfection because the ferocity of life, the feral in a group 
of perpetual conformity motivates my mundane hours. 

I bathe in sadness and dry myself with happiness, like 
you breathe lies and lay them under starry tears. 

(via ambiguous-transparency)

ambiguous-transparency:

i. I’ll never forget how you put on a straight face 
right after kissing me softly but blankly on the lips, 
rose up like heartless weed in the midst of an ashy field 
and left as if this was a job you had to accomplish, making 
love with thrusts and moans like it was that easy but I 
thought it was, we were real, I thought you loved me, you see.

ii. You told me my cigarette burns were beautiful and that 
you would propose to me one day, but then why did you never 
call after you promised me that our dull winters would always be
like passionate July nights and you would make sure that our 
love would always be gifted with blessed laughters and faithful 
embraces; why did you never call?

iii. All the craze, all the obsessions and all the devastations 
cease to amaze the lateness of the hour, when I realize that 
I was only the queen because you couldn’t move to save your 
kingdom but I’ve made you my checkmate; I’ve betrayed my 
own graveyard full of my people to take revenge because I’m 
a queen who puts love first but you, you inadequate King, 
you knew nothing else beyond your realm of one-night-stands 
and faulty, sweet promises of a love surreally ethereal, everlasting 
but I am not your queen, I am the Queen. 

iv. I miss you sometimes but you are dead to me now.

I tried to forget those nights… But I couldn’t. I knew the nightmares weren’t dreams or illusions. My best friend said, according to Freud or another analyst, that it was just a sleep disorder (caused by what in this Earth, I wonder?), something normal. I didn’t buy it at all.

It was late when I went to bed (2 a.m I think). Before that, my legs were tired because of my long walks to college and the hours of dance in the afternoon. I should have beee sleeping at ten, but I had to read for my classes. 

So when I turned off the lights, I heard a noise on my door. I knew I was still awake. I mean, just tired because I prefer the nights to study, because the silence helps me to understand even more. It wasn’t a dream, but I suddenly got exhausted while my heart jumped to hundred pulsations per minute. 

I couldn’t talk, or scream, or even move my body. A couple of minutes later, I felt the pushing hands on my shoulders, the mattress going down because of the double weight. My breathing was totally absent from my chest… And I was still awake! 

For some reason, a twist of fate or a metaphysical decision, I fell asleep instantly. I woke up at six, like every morning, trying to understand the last night situation. While I was preparing some toast and mate, I threw a question to the empty space between my mouth and the air aroud me: “What happened to you?”. The silence of the morning came to my ears as a response. Then I understood that some answers remains unknown.

ambiguous-transparency:

The beads of omens and the strings of prophecy 
hung themselves over dead twilights and scornful rain; 
I found myself, face struck with stormy tears in a foggy 
glass of pisco and the relapses began to shoot my head 
until I hallucinated crystals, cut my name until anonymity 
swept me off my feet, promised love until it bled destiny.

We promised to fix each other when I stopped drugging myself 
with overdoses of suspicion and the crumbs of yesterday’s memories 
made my weekend dress rather untidy, unlike your faithful love for me. 

I shot myself with unbreakable promises of sanity until it crept 
back to my pupils, clouded them dry until I clearly saw the love. 

ambiguous-transparency:

Drive up the spirals of your winding memories with 
the windows propped down and let the rain splash 
into your world where no body nor thing is regretful 
nor apologetic anymore and you can only hang on for 
so long until your hands perspire and slip but ghosting 
does not mean you are not there, just reminiscences of 
what used to be there seconds before you shut off your 
eyes to capture that particular moment, time in space.

These are the things I will never say to you because 
remembering also means forgetting something else 
and with you I hardly want to leave behind a single 
speck of dust and until I become a dot insignicant, 
I will waste your youth and beauty and hope that you 
won’t find me unimportant because you remind me 
that all beautiful things are not owned by one person 
and that perfection is all about subjectivity; have you 
found your perfection? Have you found your permanence?

It’s getting too late for regrets and what-ifs now but 
I don’t particularly mind, you will never hear it from me 
and wanderlust is nothing without lust and lust is hardly 
memorable without emotions, emotions without balancing 
the choices and those choices come from memories that 
ignited wanderlust cast over the shadows of our past. 

ambiguous-transparency:

For the time being, I will let you 
fiddle with my head in your hands, suffocate 
all sanity dry until there’s nothing left but chronic 
headaches and exhausted eyes and I will wander 
with discouraged shoulders and dead feet when 
you’re not looking but in the mornings, 
every cursed morning, I will wake and you may spit 
on my name, on the day I was born, but I will wake 
and live on, breathe on, until all hearing drowns, 
all sight blurs, all muscle and bone fall apart.

For the time being, I will let you have your way 
but always remember I have the bigger piece of pie, 
the grander part of the plan, and some say youth is 
stunningly beautiful but my life is already too aged  
so I’ve got absolutely nothing to lose but my name.

Every morning, I wake up even more rotten than
I had been the day before and you know, you don’t see the 
pain and the tears anymore, you don’t smell the cluster of 
cigarette smoke and you don’t taste the hard liquor but let 
me tell you that I keep my own, giving up is only relevant 
if you are not me because I have no clue what that even means. 

I trust no one and I certainly don’t have any reason to. 
This is me telling you that you can keep on walking my way, but 
sooner or later I will push you away to advance and you know so. 

Photos by Eric Boyd

(via ericboydblog)

ambiguous-transparency:

Maybe you have not looked into my eyes 
long enough but the chills creeping in the mornings 
does not settle the vendetta between fire and fire and 
I must be the oil, fueling and taunting the rights 
in the wrongdoings - am I still a fighter to you?

I lose my breath in the night when trust looks like 
the darkness and the North Star is mistaken for early 
morning sun even when the sky glistens strangely crimson 
and I crawl to my safeplace, lit with fragile candles, looking 
for your comfort but sometimes voices traveling don’t feel 
like enough to keep me going - am I still infinite to you?

I am the angel not fallen but rotten in the sky while flying 
and my wings are fried with the stench of manipulation and 
weakness, my halo feels like the desert sun on my forehead; 
I wish life was easier and cannot stop wondering if a runaway 
is what I should have chosen to be all this time but I am bound 
to you, you to me. We are one and in halves, in incompletion 
I can pursue nothing but gruesome loneliness and defeat.

You are bound to me and I to you, and that is 
more than enough to sustain whatever is left of me; I 
want you and I to be looped and tied, sealed to utter perfection.

ambiguous-transparency:

Your philosophy sits on my tongue, burning 
like honey out in the summer sun and my arrogance 
still reminds me of your melancholic ocean you drowned 
in, such a roadkill you were destined to be, out in the cold 
night when flickering streetlights and hazy stars were the only 
witnesses but you still sank deep in the 
ending depth of your ocean.

Breathless, I still am sometimes, when I see your numbers 
inked too firmly on my fingertips and I cut my own skin with 
meaningless solace, rambling and whispering good-byes and 
I slaughtered my mind one too many times for you, redesigned 
my existence and attempted to recreate my soul but you were just 
too different to stay with me forever; I chased happiness but you 
found yourself in depression, self-pity and unwarranted egotism, 
we could have become everything, everyone.

Raw, your passion for loneliness was, and my memories sting like 
my empathy for your soul but you seeped into the crevices of 
the mind and poisoned the heart like ivy until the red turned white

and then ashy; I was left nobody with no body and no thing, no one 
when you left and now I am the wandering ambiguous transparency, 
mourning no more but still remembering the gaping corners of my 
wounds for you but I want you no more, I belong to you no more.

You melted during the night and when I woke up with the stars 
dosing off with the morning dew, you were just another dream 
that became deja vu for all my lifetime yet to come, but just 

another dream that I never wish could come real anyways.