Despre breathemein

Bucharest, 28, looking.

mad

it’s easy to be mad,
to feel like you’re fighting the wrong way.
maybe you’re saying too much, or not enough.
you feel the ties, and then you feel like it’s a one way street,
and then you keep guessing what’s their next move,
it’s like a never ending movie
of rollercoaster rides,
of trying to ride the tides,
of not getting enough sleep or clarity,
of feeling like you’re asking for charity.
and yes, it’s easy to be mad,
when you’re only mad at yourself.
for being weak,
for being too strong,
too lame or too independent,
too angry, or too dependent,
careless or too demanding,
and there’s no right way of feeling these feelings,
but there’s a very wrong way to express them.
take your time, because they took everything from you.
you need to rebuild, you need to be thrilled.
let them have your old you, it’s easy to sleep with ghosts.
keep your new you to yourself, and move to the other coast.
it’s okay to be mad, it’s okay to be scared,
let your anger fuel you and let it be shared
with the root of all evil, this handsome devil,
that, in their stupid way, brought you to a higher level.

finite

is love finite? and is it spent?
sometimes it feels like our life is bent
and crossed
only for us to be oblivious and lost.
is our world finite? and is it spent?
it’s like my life is lived on borrowed time and lent,
and i keep trying to make small dents,
and all i get instead are
smiles that are lost,
arms that are crossed,
incredible losses and cost.

rebuilding

tougher to see the holes
after you shoot,
and so much harder to see it after you dig my grave
while you’re still asking for grace
and you’re here, like you still own the place,
and it’s like we’re in this race
who can forget this
and make it empty space,
who can forget this faster,
without using a plaster

old trauma

it’s like i’m reliving trauma from that summer,
when pain was tougher, and i only knew suffering,
it was the drunken nights,
the stolen lights,
remembering the tights and dresses,
the scars and the tresses,
and everything was a valley of low,
and nothing was a miserable blow
as much as you were.
in 2014 things were dark,
and so was i,
but i remember feeling so god damn alive.

move me

move me with currents
that pinch me
and lunge me
at walls and despair,
and give me the haunted
air
that will heal me,
it’s like there’s nothing besides me,
and nothing that hides me,
and yet i am hunted,
and thrown to the ground.
just leave me with ashes
and thunder
and sound.

LOUD

Why are you so loud?
It’s night outside,
The lights, they are out,
And here you are, one with the crowd,
Chasing my dreams
Inside and out.
And here I stand, with borrowed time,
Asking you why you continue to hide,
And showing you all of my insides
And out.
Oh god, why are you being so loud?
It’s like your breath
Scratches my inside,
And I wear your wreath instead of a crown,
And here I stand, with borrowed time,
Asking you why are you being so loud?
I have no desire to ask and enquire,
I am walking on your tight rope wire,
Asking to get higher and higher,
Hoping that you won’t be so much louder.
But I’m not saved by space, nor by time,
And yet you keep hurting all my insides,
I feel you scratching my vessels, my bones,
Tearing me down, building me stones,
Putting me up on crosses and walls,
Oh god, you’re taking me closer to clouds,
Oh god, and now you’re just being too loud.
There’s no solution, no resolution in sight,
There’s noise and screaming and blood letting inside,
There’s poisonous breathing wrestling, and wondrous plight,
And you’re the one bleeding and making me fight,
My eyes are turning a colour of tight,
No blessings wandering on the outside,
And here is my question, powerful reside,
Why, oh why, are you being so loud?

Ruin

You know when all your mistakes

Taste like the best choices?

They taste like coffee in the morning,

And some high spirit in the evening,

And they make you shiver,

And sweat,

And reconsider

All of your thoughts,

And wishes, and wants.

And you’ll lose all the plots

Just to have the chance

To choose again

The poorly poured wine

In the pursed lips

Of someone you loathe

As much as you loathe yourself.