Friendly Fire

Posted: April 2, 2014 in Thoughts

Day 3
Blank papers.
Dead ink.
Dimensions collapsing on her skin.
“I am delirious”
I find it amusing how our species managed to invent a word for every mental glitch and emotional slip that resides our psychology; let alone the highly debatable term psychology itself.

Day 4
Black and white, over exposed pictures of shadows.
An analogue clock that never tells the time.
Rays fighting to secure a spot on my swollen wall.
“Hold your tongue”
I never was able to stick it out and hold it long enough to prevent a conflict between the many faces of mine, as if it mirrored all of their ideas, all at once in hideous dissonance.

Day 9
Pale faces on a backlit screen.
Oil bursting out of an icon.
“You are distant”
I ran out of words, out of thoughts, out of dreams. Rivers of imagination are dead and dry.
Distance is not what this is called; do you want to hold my blue corpse and smell my blue skin?
Dead people are not distant, they are lost in a circus of well defined circles and blurred squares.

Day 11
Closed window.
Lines of dust sparkle over the statue of a snake.
Voices, outside my head.
“I did my best”
What is “best”? Is it better than the “good” of yesterday? Is the “good” of yesterday better than the “worst” of tomorrow?
Unconditional love and conditional mythologies.
What sorcery conspired to anatomize a breakdown of hopes?
I am doing this for the “best” of tomorrow,
And my soul is still locked in a cage of frozen leaves
breathing a storm that destroyed the collective conscience of my selective memory.
“Is this black magic?”
I asked her as she stood firm there like a well-tuned cello that is about to silently plays every note that escaped my sober mind.
Unanswered, my questions retreated back in the black hole where my brains suffered infinitely.
She turned, I left.

Day 12
Pictures of home.
Sleepless eyes of a stranger in my mirror.
Layers of empty spaces folded into the corner.
“I cannot take this anymore”
And who knows what “this” is?
And was there “more” of me to take “anymore”?
My words used to break down the ice of illusions and soften the edges of burdens.
I was fighting with all what was left of me, a temporary war that I believed would lead to peace.
The blade stormed shining like the fear of a brainwashed believer who saw death for the first time.
Friendly fire.
A very friendly loss.
An even friendlier breakdown of the rules of engagement. 
“I cannot take this anymore”
Did you hear yourself say it?
My flesh isn’t numb enough to allow this stab to tear down the truth.

Day 13
Absence smells like death.
Eyes wide open to see nothing.
“Would you forgive a lie?”
I never thought I could.
In the background, the pale voice of a female whispered through the layers of a symphonic chaos: “Sometimes the sky is piano black”.
I smiled.
“I am delirious and I find it amusing”


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