Stargaze and bloodshed

Once I picked up my black pencil and wanted to write

All these little creatures started running, not away but all over the place

Where does this fear, I suppose, come from

Why feel the sudden urge to suppress myself from writing

Why resist what I am feeling and what inspired me to write


I remembered her out of the blue

Not exactly since I stumbled upon one of her shared playlists

Once I played the music I was already transported

To that weird dreamy domain

Painted in every corner by her astral light


Does she know what kind of realm she created inside my mind

My skeptic self tells me that her reality and unreality have nothing to do with what I am experiencing now

That somehow I am just projecting

I beg to differ

I went and reread one of her last shared notes

I was in awe because I thought

Such mind knows how unique it is

Yet they are tormented

I was for an instant in awe that she knows her potential, her otherworldly piercing sight

I thought I was not wrong for lusting after her second nature

I thought I was not wrong

That moment created a disconnect and a distance

I put her on a pedestal

Then I thought that is exactly what I went through

To suddenly or swiftly lose your might, in my case, arms to the ground, facing the reality that my vessel was rotting, as well as my intellect, to lose your intelligence and the belief that you can deal with anything as powerful as it seems to be

I once thought, all walls of this mortal world shall break in front of my insanity

With the age, I have known lesser and lesser of might

To fall helpless and hopeless

To hear the clock ticking

But this time not in my favor

Instead, in favor of chaos

Then a city came to my mind, then an ethnic history came to my mind, a bloodline

Then I thought, Is that what we have in common

While oriental steady beats were playing in the background

I was already lost in thought

A voice inside me said

She is married

It followed and said

How do you think her husband would react to this note I am sharing

May be crush me to death

What a strange world we live in

As far as humanity does its best to stray away from animal instincts

It and only but succumbs to it

The rule of the jungle

Competition and ownership

Death and fatality

But then I digress


I cant even share this note with her

I can only stand in silence

And lose myself to lustful desires

Of a spiritual flavor

As vague as the word entitles itself to be

I couldn’t use another one


Her world is certainly a place I would be lost in forever

Like a lucid dream while the choral is echoing in the background

Hypnotic, dark, beautiful

Powerful, chaotic

I can only describe it as a celestial altar

On which my self shall scatter and disperse to hundreds of parcels

Ones I could never assemble


I am the snake you know

The one in front of the flute

I won’t bite and I can’t

But I am just not there with you

I am elsewhere, in her unreality

Lost and infatuated


Let the coven scream my thousand stabs in the dark

Let them spill my blood and offer me as a sacrifice to the priestess of the temple

The one at the horizon in between darkness and light

One that submerges the hidden seas

One that I have visited a couple of times in the past and future

One which is doomed to despair





The Serpent Incarnated

To play with a man’s heart

Their specialty

But if you think enough

It is man’s fault

For being vulnerable and exposing himself to a female presence

Some sort of neediness


Because they can’t handle a naked woman

Wide eyes, smooth skin, attractive eyebrows, and voluptuous lips

Starring at the man, standing next to them

The ultimate curse, an offering from hell bellow


Amazed by the charm he hears her bewitching voice only to wander off track

To places he would never go to

Inside his mind that is

The childish need for comfort, validation, and recognition of might by the other gender


At some point he has no control of his thoughts

His soul has been already possessed by her touch, by how soft her ass cheeks are, and by how cool her breast feels like pressed against his


Before he knows it his captive slave has been released by his second nature

Lustful desires of man are taking the lead, worshipping every inch of her fleshly temple

Once he wakes up before dawn, noticing her arm around his waist he thinks to himself, what have I done, what is this, I don’t recognize myself anymore

In morning, one look at her eyes, stops all his inner resistance to her magick

In times of absence of the other

Man tries his best to come back to his past self, being the man he is, always cautious of his own weakness to be taken advantage of, does his best to stay on protocol, to never give in to their spells

But as soon as she comes back and says I have missed you

He knows he has already lost the battle of will

He knows he is hers again and no matter how hard he tries to snap out of it, all that there is to it, all what was left, is for her to come back, to meet him, to touch him, to look at his tearful eyes and whisper, you are mine

In that moment he knows he is doomed

He has already succumbed to her otherworldly power

As time passes by he finds himself following her after she leaves his bed, stalking her whereabouts, taking count of how many men she flirts with, of how many she offers her body to

Trying so hard to gather up his lost strength, staying on edge, bottling up his anger in order to face her, resisting at his best the conclusion that it is a lost cause


As soon as she comes back at night he finds no will to cut the cord straight


And when she is not around he is unable find his way to sleep

Looking at his own weakness he hates himself more


Thinking of the day she will find another man, that day would be the start of a living hell, she will ignore his sight whenever fate randomly gathers them at crossroads, she will ignore him and he will sink deep down his darkness


He is no man no more

Only a weakling, a shadow, a shell of his former self,

He exists no more




Lustful Desires Within Darkness

The resemblance is frightening. i draw this on improvisation. i like to think that i am making links forcefully out of some sort of obsession, that in reality what i ended up drawing doesn’t really resemble her but the problem is the more i see the outcome the more i feel it. some kind of pleasure or lustful nurturing desire, i cant put words around it, but the numbers spoke and they have said 23:23


PS: i got that again, a couple of hours ago, it has been a long while i didnt experience it, it was a crushing feeling, as in the movie Bottom Of The World, i feel like I’m being crushed … then next I’m falling thousand feet from the sky… in those moments you feel like the whole universe is imploding and that you are the center, that nothing will make it stop, hopelessness and total despair takes over you… you feel like you are on the verge of disappearing, on the verge of becoming nothing while experiencing unbearable amounts of despair and loss.

Chaos Reigns …




Dreamy Infatuation



Kira Rausch’s Doppleganger

Today has been a gloomy day

Dont worry camarade, the whole time seems so

A very long black truck was heading our way

We got a glimpse of the driver, long messy dark hair covering the face, on the second seat must be Chrollo.

He came to our inner realms and spoke to us. Now he is here.

The truck stops, we get inside, we cant really see much, but we both smelled a mixture of odours, alcohol, weed, and cigarettes. After we entered the back of the truck we sat there and remained silent, we felt the presence of others even though i didnt manage to identify their number since there was no light inside. We got in, then the truck kept rolling. You might ask who i was with, i really dont recall may be it was only me, what about Chrollo? All i can i say is that he manifested his image in my inner temple, he spoke without sound, i heard his words while looking into his big black eyes. I dont remember much till i have found myself waiting in dawn, i couldnt sleep so i went outside thinking about how much every dream i had didnt have any touch of realism, existence was meaningless, when i came to that realization i was filled with an extreme hatred for anything moving, i hated myself more for breathing. The truck made another stop, while being submerged in my own despair i couldnt but to succombe to what was left of my animalistic curiosity, i smelled a female presence, she sat next to me, then the truck restarted moving. Without being self conscious about it i have already found myself thinking.

I couldnt take my own life and here i am riding this morbid truck with similar doomed minds, what i fear the most is that Chrollo will make this trip infinite. One thing i can not bear is eternity, he promised us a new world, he promised killing God and creating a new heaven for us, a deserted land in which we will suffer alone under our own will and no one would take our control would it be a being or a diety. We would at least have our fate in our hands. It was a relief for me because i couldnt stand the fact that a god would doom suicidals to Hell. What a sick sadistic turn of events. Anyways, i dont know what is out there, i dont know if this is even real i am just here thinking about the fatality of being alive, a story in which i couldnt end my life.

My primitive instinct kicked in since i was reminded by a female presence next to me, i have heard a lighter, i smelled what came out her own lungs, that breath only fired a cold flame inside me, i thought, this existence is lame and what makes it unbearable for me is that whenever i find myself lusting after a lone angel i cant help myself but being submerged into despair once i realize i am with her now and that we are similar somehow, that this, me and her sharing this space is suffocating, the reality of us being together in the here and the now kicks us inside our black holes to the point that returning to our selves becomes an impossible task.

The black hole is getting deeper and deeper whenever i tried to get out, an unbearable pain took over me, i tried to tell myself, i screamed inside,

You dont know her, you didnt talk, you didnt see her in the eye, you are just sitting next to each other, come back to yourself, you are still inside this truck, you do not live in the past.

Somehow i have managed to break free from panic. This primal instinct of mating and reproducing still plays tricks on me, there is nothing to it. i reminded myself of how much i hated my self, how much i should never manifest as a person, to never let the light shine on me, to never use this body to go outside, to never partake in life with others. It would only bring me to more self disgust and utter hatred.

The truck is still moving, and she is still smoking next to me. I can hear the others too inside the truck but somehow my brain is fixatting only on her since she is sitting besides me and i can feel her warmth. I can smell her hair and hear her smoking.

To be continued.


My issue with some writers

This short note is sure about writers but not writers as in writers in general but modern living writers who somehow the social parameters might bring us together to a confined space such as a face to face, body next to body, encounter.

The ones i am talking about are not professional ones, they might be but my case is about the ones i somehow see as work in progress writer or writer as a way of expressing the complex multitudes of their inner processes in some personal manner.

If i did not make myself clear it is because i am having an issue approaching the topic without sounding superficial, cheesy, or perverted.

The previous lines were supposed to be an introduction, some kind of a short generalization then followed by my real issue. But i failed at it.

Yes i have an infatuation for certain known writers would they be intellectuals story tellers poets or so and so… But i would regard them as some kind of authority thus having a wide social gap in between thus not the ones i want to talk about here.

Phase one: An introvert

i would spend the day or days inside my head and sometimes checking into many intellects over the internet or just engaging in escapism. Which is in itself very isolating.

Phase two: Social Media

Somehow i end up checking friend suggestions or cyber stalking profiles on social media which are linked in one way or another to me.

Phase three: The reason behind this note

Here i am now in front of a profile which caught my attention. I see pictures which are taken in a unique cinematographic way. I am kind of impressed now which you should be if you are me and like movies and somehow you have a thing for post war germany (may be during war too idk) especially in my third world country which is a very rare occasion. I am like i like this girl is she even from here. Then i stumble upon some of her posts which are against dogmas here to which many are bound to follow. The nature of the posts are sarcastic i am like i totally dig this. Then i checked more of her posts which show how strong willed she is to live her life as she wants it to be in this sick society: thing the coward me would never be able to do. I am like i like this girl and the more i see her artsy pictures alienated from day to day life here the more i succomb to her charm. Then by misfortune i stumble upon old notes she wrote. I read poems in another language which i did not expect and while reading i am hit with what it seemed a deep experience of hers it is like being suddenly invited to her inner realm. It choke me in many ways. It reminded me of my old romantic needs because somehow i saw a girl who tried to connect emotionaly with someone and did not work due to his dogmatic beliefs. it spoke to the other half inside me one i try to alter and own but till now i didnt succeed to fully take him down. It spoke to me being unable to win over it. So i was like this shining beauty and strong willed girl struggled in the past and i saw a little me in her which ofc i projected plus being very poetic about it in a language which has a strange deep effect on me. Then i went back to her pictures and felt so weak in front of this carnal angel. This is me with those kind of writers. This is the experience i wanted to share. I would sunk into the beauty of their eyes of their soft skin of their hair of their strong personality and then to know they write makes me fall more and more in love with them which elevates them far away from me and i end up like i can never meet her and look eye to eye, i can never date her, to walk by her side with confidence or sit next to her, i would feel extremely insecure and naked in front of her lethal magick. This is my struggle with girls who write poetry or intellectual stuff. I just cant grow balls of steel and meet them. And even if i did i wouldnt be able to be their partner.

(That escalated quickly that is why i titled the phases previously in order to follow a bit also know that i am a Libra so somehow i always have this curse or delusion known as partnership stuck to my reptilian brain)

Why? Because i live in a culture which is not liberal in essence and to live by my own liberties and hers would demand from me to be able to protect us or at least manage any kind of intrusive scenario in the public or social scene. I would also have to be true to those set of beliefs which will demand me to be active and outspoken about it in this dictatorship i live in which is a bit scary if you ask me and also i have somehow to not fear coming out indirectly to my whole conservative family to which i cut myself off and would see me as a disgrace, a sinner then shame me after my mental illness as a reason to them why i left their faith.

P.S.: Her poems were written in arabic. I never spoken to this girl. She seemed like she is in a happy relationship. The story behind those arabic poems might be satire and by then not related to her personal life. Yes crystallization involves a strange setting of interpretations which might be unrelated to what she meant in her poems.


A Desolate State

i have lost the inspiration…
… all what i have wanted to say
where is the one i knew before
was it because you were so close to death
was it because you were an outcast from family
was it because of the feelings of guilt
was it fear
was it your ex who treated you like shit for years

you were whole
you were the one who could take a grip of my soul with your mighty fingers

now i have noticed you are more into the here and the now
you are so attached to your family
you are so attached to what a career seems like to you
you are so attached to the bricks our subdued society has built

The only thing that i have considered dear and a reason to live for is a female soul i would crawl into

i am not interested or attached to what most of humans on this materialistic world cling to

most of people would want a career, getting richer, seeking attention from the social scene and by then they would control and manipulate others to get what they want

but what for,

i have enough of this, i don’t mind spending the rest of my life with you

i don’t mind having a small income

i don’t mind not being attached or dominated by family or any social group

i  don’t want you to meet guys and think highly of them

i don’t want you to think low of yourself

you are a queen into my eyes

lets just be together and wait for our death

lets just eat, drink and sleep till the lord take our soul
i have nothing against your aspirations nor you
i just miss the one i hugged once
i just miss the one i kissed once
i just miss the one i felt so close to once

i still remember how special holding your hands was
i still remember how tight were your grips

if only i was not
if only i was a ghost

i am getting away from the Lord each night
i am sure he is watching my steps out of his light
i am disgusted by my self
of what i have become

but still

i try from time to time to repent

i try from time to time to change the way i see things

but still

our planet is a lone one
the sky i see at night is so mysterious
the animals birds insects, plants and trees are all signs for something much greater than my ego

something divine
something i did not find my way towards yet

since i am but stuck within my delusions of romance

if only she held me tightly
if only i felt her hands pressuring my whole body

if only i was squeezed and owned by her

i would breath heavily and just descend

descend the steps downwards the kingdom of hell

the place i got a glimpse of once as a kid
the place where we ll soon reside

all of us, deluded sinners



A story of pity

I have found myself thinking a lot about a girl. I used to call her in the past she never answered. Or she would pick up the phone and tell me she ll call back but never did. I met her in December two years ago. Today i sent her many texts. I was afraid to call her cause whenever i did i would feel the phone app blocking me after only one beep. I just thought of never contacting her but then i have felt a primal fear of her being angry at me. I am stuck.

I tried to meet girls in between but they would only reject me or ignore me. I tried facebook i tried strangers outside or on train. I tried girls from places i went to regularly who shared the activities i was involved in but there was nothing in the outcome of such attempts.

Thus i am invisible.

Thus i am nothing.

I wished i have considered myself ugly because it would make it physical. It would be easier to bear. I still think of my self as an ugly young man but my pride or rather selfcenterdness or may be i am too selfish to succomb to such self statement. I still like to think very low of myself but it only serves the pleasing pain of self degradation. Since i am in love with my reflection on the mirror even if selves from my past would disagree.

I wished i had no money because it would make it easier to bear. I would think girls have the right to abstein from guys with no cent in their pocket. But thank God i have found a hole in society from which i feed.

Last time i met her was this first April. Lets call her M. When i met M last time i was so in awe. I loved everything about her from her voice to hair to eyes to eyebrows to her beautiful hands and waist and legs and thighs and and and … i was so enchanted and i do not know why.

I still wished today and in the days before if i had a chance to travel to Poland. Only to escape my loneliness. Only to prove to myself i am not a ghost. Only to stop the vicious cycle of pain or unrequited obsession. Wiktoria is in a relationship with her guy but still i longued for her. I wanted to see her and to talk to her. Since i never did. We only talked once through this human miracle called the Internet which made souls communicate occross a multitude of lands and seas. I do not think i can look into her eyes from fear to succomb to her charm. Then i felt afraid that the girl i am obsessed with would know my thoughts about Wiktoria and then be angry at me.

Still, i wanted to travel to Poland. Wiktoria is the girl who insipired me to write the northen tales. But she stopped talking to me. I understand her case cause she is with her guy.

But why M? the girl i am so infatuated with does not react to my messages nor reply to my calls. Why all she thinks about is her career and family.  Why she only reacts when i delete my facebook and gets so mad cause she thinks i blocked her. She has the right to live her own life as she wishes. But i have this fake belief in romance. That another soul should be our only reason to live till we meet the lord in heaven. Or never see his face thus reside suffering in Hell.

I am a selfish person.

I have many and very antisocial thoughts. Which i want to write about but i am afraid God will be angry at me. I am also afraid people would judge me.

I hate people preaching about happiness.

Sometimes i hate myself as well but it has been a long time i did not because of medication i guess.

I still believe in the delusions in romance.

One day i ll be able to create an imaginary lover and live with her till i die.

In the meanwhile i kiss my hands before i sleep and after i wake up cause i live alone and think all the time about M. I hope she would reply and tell me to never bother her again. If so i would keep on my escapades to the realm of unreality and meet the polish girl Wiktoria. She seems the only one who is kind enough to let me dream and kind enough to share with me her dark parallel existence.

Wiktoria i wish you a happy life. And M the girl from the suicidal chapters i wrote once about as well.

I love a couple of birds on a nest next to my window. Very charismatic parents and very cute lovely babies. They have three children. Still did not learn how to fly. I wonder if they ll make it one day. To fly.