Tag: writing blog

Interacting with mental constructs

Have you ever felt like someone interacts with an image or representation of you, that they’ve created and are feeding in their mind, rather than the reality of who you are? You can usually sense it while it happens, it’s often tiring, you might get uncomfortable; depending on the discrepancy

A poem: Snowdrop girl

Snowdrop girl, I can feel your presence in the first whispers of spring; I can hear your breath in the windy corners of life- it’s my favourite lullaby, it makes me cold sometimes- you could be cold sometimes, in a scintillating way that I never wished to oppose or even

Review: Mira Nedyalkova’s underwater photography

A selection of artworks from the stunning, eerie underwater photography collection by Bulgarian visual artist and fine art photographer Mira Nedyalkova. Mira’s work depicts the beautiful facets of pain and sadness in fluid forms, whilst linking water with eroticism, as well as exploring the erotic in the light of the

A Poem: Bloody act

Two bodies wrapped in an embrace in a tomb of glitter and frost- the blood lingers while they kiss, then it pours gently down the legs of the cradle surrounded by mist. The lake of tears reflects the moon of sorrow- trembling, fluid, unpredictable; their red eyes locked, unblinking, while eternity replaces the

A poem: Vis-à-vis

Quiet and frozen: A reflection approaches within the glass I seek meaning in a meaningless palace of empty eyes and half-hearted smiles. Statues of philosophers vis-à-vis- From expresionless to sad, their face changes mood: they empathise. Neither pain nor pleasure felt- My mindless mind projects conflicting eyes filling a void of thought

A poem: Echoes

A silhouette merging with the unknown- all that is left is your breath in the cold air as you exhale in slow motion. I speak in shadows, you respond with specters of light, haunting every word- making sense of it all; I choose to live in the now, but if

A poem: Afterlife

I taste the blood of dehydrated lips, admire the inadequately plucked eyebrows above vapid black circles surrounded by red on translucent white. Dark hair, itchy like rope against my neck, frozen hands trembling, features particularly thin: I forgot how to live, yet I laugh at my own sin.

Poems from years ago

the fragile body and soul now shine with a different light and cast a different shadow: the light of god, the shadow of Lucifer. – Distracted by my flame, I spilled some water in that little cavity between you and me. Your presence turned it into ice, I stepped towards

Aquarium

On the other side, I see your face distorted among plants and fish; you smile and I’m happy because I know you know how I love rivers, lakes, and the sea from afar, and how I used to take swimming lessons when I was little, yet was never eventually able to swim

A poem: November

The vanishing words, the vanishing images, the shedding of selves like autumn leaves; of withered lives on wrinkled paper, dust off the treasure chest in the desert, next to a snake regenerating its skin polished, your porcelain appearance melting into the undefined- does the new verse annihilate or build you? perhaps it

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