Despre breathemein

Bucharest, 28, looking.


Selfish is easy, easier than you might even think,

Smoking and drinking, aimlessly, carelessly,

And it always makes you think you’re on a brink

Of losing your head, your normalcy.

Repeat of repeats, binge living and watching,

Like being stuck on a carousel of feelings,

Where people keep on taking in the brainwashing.

We’re all just poor, trashy, weaklings.


There’s nothing more you love than dreaming wide awake,

It’s like a whole galaxy hides in your eyes,

And whenever you blink a new one gets born.

The fire in you is warm and peaceful,

Like your arms are home, and your heart is not deceitful,

And you taste like coffee in the evening,

And smell like love in the morning,

And isn’t that exquisite?

As if you’ve planted your courage in me and gave me wings,

And now everything tastes like summer and feels like swings.

Easy Swipe

How are words easy, the soul’s uneasy,

With touches so cheesy,

Swipes of left and right so breezy,

Tell me is it worth it

To set everything on fire,

Like a hit man for hire,

Slashing my tire,

Making me tired,

Making me feel like everything I desired

Was uninspired.

How are your words so uneasy,

My soul is easy,

And now everything is breezy



The world is gold,
There’s never a better way
For this story to be told.
Through raindrops of butter,
And milky ways that taste like honey,
Something of minty flavour
And tangy scent.
I’m just this tangent,
Purple dust of spectacular
That shines when you’re alive.
And all of this is nothing,
The world is less than rust,
And everything tastes like sorrow,
But if you kiss me like there’s no tomorrow,
The world is gold again,
And there’s no better way.


And listen to me beg and cry,

While words can’t listen,

And I can’t die,

And all I have inside is a faint try

Of doing this

As if

It has a sense.

And yet I’m not surprised,

As I beg, and as I cry,

That words don’t listen,

And yet I die.

In me there’s do, but there’s no don’t,

And there’s no try.

Doing this

As if it has a sense

Makes me feel a bit dense.


For all the times when my body wasn’t mine,
Please remember
I was just a vessel,
A pathway to something better.
I had room to grow,
I was still this cookie dough
That legends talk about.
All I could do was
Resist and pout.
Now I’m not better,
And I’m not worse either.
I’m the same vessel,
With a little more stuff in me.
I still have room to grow,
And will probably do so
Until there’s no more room left.
Then this vessel won’t be as deft,
And things will spill,
And that’ll no longer be a skill.
Spillage becomes louder,
Spillage becomes death.
Spillage becomes chowder,
That’s when I’ll lose my breath.