She walked down the corridor, harmless
with her weapons drawn.
The end of a lifetime argument, wrapped up in a sheet,
the last one he would mark with the butt of a cigarette,
as white as her sweet scarred skin.
It felt like a vivid dream, a prophecy; the day he would walk away
from her, from him, from them all
without a smile, yellow in anticipation, weightless,
ready to embrace the nothingness his life had become.
She looked into the box, touched his cold forehead,
held his firm hand made of bones; his grey knuckles stripped of strength.
Vibrant flowers had sucked all his colour in, like residual water.
A dead silence filled the sour air, tainted with the smell of his last whiskey.
He was nothing more than matter.
I can’t. I won’t.
It is curious to see how things have ended up like,
her hands on your face
I pace down the corridor,
your voice cut with her sounds
like a wounded animal hidden under a tree
of cheap cotton leaves from the supermarket.
I can’t and I won’t ever forget that I
was once herself.
My first time in Berlin
The first time I went to Berlin, I decided to pack a small suitcase and go to visit one of my friends in Berlin. She was doing her Erasmus year and I felt especially adventurous, so I quickly bought a ticket for the next weekend.
M. picked me up in Berlin’s airport and we took the train to her flat. She lived near Charlottenstraße and I fell in love with the area and her apartment. It was the charmest place I have ever been to! Big windows, high ceilings, pastel walls that made you feel snug, covered in bright fairy lights. Me, being a literature geek, felt as if I had travelled through time and I was now part of a Dadaist poem, enchanted by the old charm of German buildings. We drank wine and toasted for the Berlinese night and the possibilities that it was about to offer.
We decided to stay that night around the area, so we walked under the amber streetlights while talking about adventures and love affairs. It was a pleasant, cool, May night; perfect to drink beer as we paced along. We kept walking and chatting until we passed a pub with a (very) handsome boy smoking at the door. Being as I am (weak to the charms of beautiful men), insisted in entering the place to have a drink.
While M. bought us what she considered to be “a real beer”, the guy from the door entered smiling. He stood in one of the corners, next to his friends. The bar was half-empty but we decided to stay because we loved the music. Marta sat down with her beer while her roommate, L. and I went to the dancefloor. We danced to the The Libertines like crazy and drank quickly the best and coolest beer we could afford. Once we were finished, the waiter came to our seats and brought us “some beers from those boys and these pretzels from myself”. Pretzels. Huge, enormous, chewy and delicious pretzels. Feeling happy (probably because of the beer) and against my friends’ advice, I walked to the boys’ corner and asked who bought us the beers. The handsome boy from outside looked at me and said to me that he wanted to “charm The Girl with the Yellow Boots”. Yes, that was me.
Needless to say, nothing more than a couple of dances and a friendly “add me to Facebook” happened but, since then, everytime I think of Berlin, I remember how, as we were leaving the bar, the sun was starting to appear and we laughed, eating our pretzels and walking towards the sunrise.
When I find old poetry and I remember why I keep writing…
And when we make love I still feel
the reason why the tide fought against his chest,
the moment when he moaned out loud
that the sea was his.
I wish I’d sail the darkest seas
We are junkies, and they cannot give us anything strong enough to make us change our minds. We are the ones that dwell in an ocean of pills, smack, sniffs, drinks that became our safe happy place. Their aim is to find the reason why we have decided to swim with our eyes closed and our backs to the sea. But they would never let us get the answer because it’s just too simple: We are the problem.
So hail to the dealer, and hail to the broken dreams of building a house, planting a tree, writing a novel and being successful. We are here, in this particular moment, and the future is a rope that is never tightened. The present is us, and the black surrounding when we close our eyes and we fall in the arms of something that will kill us in the end. But doesn’t it feel great?
We decide whether to live or die, and our choice, once again, has already been made.
Another party, 1.
'This is absurd', I swallowed the last crisps' crumbs.
She shaked her head, up and down,
without a smile
she said ‘I know
the pathway to Heaven is not in that book, you see’
Just empty words for the full-of minds in his living-room.
I grabbed my achy belly and drank, staring at his hands
while he fingered the guitar, teasing.
You stooped and I conquered
The folds of my body, the beginnings
The unmade tucks of my bed,
steam of my breath, mixed with
the sour smell in your mouth
as you invaded my snug position,
upon my bodily warmth.
You dozed and I slept
Falling slowly into place,
Your arms, limbs without a purpose,
Enclosed me like a cocoon
That would never be finished.
We dreamt of separate places,
Of separate people;
We dreamt of a common moment,
of a here and now. For a second,
We dreamt of us.
I had to open the window,
The smell of gas exuding from the pages,
with its dead still speaking of their anger;
I had to get away, to breathe
The air that inundates the household,
Slipping in, like drops from a hole in a bucket.
Fresh air that fills up my lungs
With hope, with the non-anxious promise
Of here and now.
the nausea I felt when i read you,
the facebook status of great fun times,
the profiles of new romances, the success
in all fields I found my failure.
You seem to have forgotten
my rants, the indecisive way
in which I bite my hair, waiting,
looking at the screen where blue screens
foresee the dawn of my fever.
I belong to places where no-ones knows anyone,
the familiarity of unknown faces
surrounding enlightened corridors.
I live for the cold kisses of young men,
the slackness of sluggish lips with too much
tongue. Drunk steps that lead to falling,
encumbered by an expression of triumph. I can but I won´t,
I say, vague. Undecisive, I admit to be
cryptic and scared.
I may follow the lead and stay
the night with new bedclothes that I have
already dreamt of.