fresh meat

40 kilograms
of red meat
waiting for me to devour.
even the thought
of chewing them
properly
itches my gums.
my tongue drowns
in soft saliva.
the bitter poison
makes my fangs
shatter impatiently.
each joint
I
gobble up
makes my pharynx
ecstatic.
the sound of
chewing,
crunching,
and
splashing
is
pure eurhythmy.
why should
I
bother to think of
the nausea
and the loathing?
each pleasure
ends up
in abhorrence.
bulimia
makes no exception.
it tastes so good.
better than pork,
beef,
mutton,
salmon,
sausages,
better than anything
I've
ever had.
it feels so good
that
I
almost have an erection.
the skin
on my belly
stretches with satisfaction.
big proportions
don't scare me.
the geometry of my soul
is far too important
for me
to care for the
shallow architecture of my body.
don't bother
to prick me.
I'm
not afraid to blow.
floating on the surface
of my own shit
has always seemed
intriguing.
shhhh...
fresh flesh
and
viscera
are waiting out there
for me.
shhhh...
I
now ruminate
you
with disgust.

just a little bit dizzy

48 de ore ciudate. joi seara masti, ipsos, furtuna, alcool, un atac de panica, un drum acasa cu taxiul, un soi de plans amestecat cu ras, inca un pic de alcool, 3 ore somn. ora 9 examen. lumina. ora 10 doua cafele si un joint pe terasa la hard, plamanii relaxati, multa lume in jurul meu, multe discutii fara rost, multe sunete pestrite, david bowie undeva in spatele meu malitios ''bye-bye, love''. ras isteric, coborat republicii pe jos, denisa cautand umbre si lumini prin curti interioare, eu sprijinind peretii, muschii dansand pe oase, insomnia in rosu si verde, mult praf in cafea de la muncitorii din camera de langa, luna amara in boxe, 2 tipe suspina pe dizident la masa de langa sprijinindu-si capul una de alta, n-am inteles de ce, probabil ceva istorie personala, denisa povestind ceva de frigider si lucian, stefana in rosu cu cheile de la casa, vreo 4 ore de somn, apoi vreo 3 de amorteala, somon afumat, alcool iar, ceva rasete isterice, ceva zambete tampe, schimbat impresii cu stefana, mers la culcare fiecare in camera ei. trezit dimineata. acum in fata calculatorului. gata. trebe sa ma apuc de lucru. despre mine. despre lumina. despre goya. despre absenta si singuratate. niceeeee. mai intai trec pe la tive. kit de photoshop cs3 si o portie de normalitate.

i am a very reasonable girl

i'll just leave the door open... for a year, for two years or even ten. i'll just leave it open...

no, no

''I don't think you unworthy
But I need a moment
to liberate''

do you?

saturnus version 2.0

i now understand why people choose to have children. now matter how much they disappoint you, no matter how many times they slam the door, they always come back. they remain yours forever. i miss my child, i miss my unborn child that knocked so many times at my inner-selfs door, but chose never to show his footprints on the verge of my existence. my womb is hollowed of his violent denial. he renegaded me from the start. as a given fact. such a shame. i would have been an excellent mother. if he were a monster i would had stayed and pilled his horns, i would had let him chew my breasts and scratch my skin, i would had let him to mutilate me, i would had licked his tears and forced his sorrow to go away. i would had kept the hybris for myself from the start.
i tried to talk to goya these days. such a great painter. a little bit too silent and evasive though. saturn was staying right next to him like a wounded dog. he didn't say a word. he was afraid even to think of one. fear was flowing around him. whenever he sobbed, goya took the whip he was holding in his left hand and hit him. ''sssshhhh. there's nothing left of your son inside you. the last bite was the sweetest for it was the last.'' there' s nothing left but hunger for the poor creature now. his hunger invades me. just like my parents' invaded me once.

veil

how mangy and obscene
a piece of cloth can be
between two bodies
skin rubbing itself
of synthetic tissues
one of us being there for the other
one of us being there out of pure fashion
as someone once told me.

man on my back

''Me and a gun
and a man
On my back
But I haven't seen Barbados
So I must get out of this''

it was just a fuckin' dream. i fuckin' hate nightmares. fuckin' hate them. i really do. it was just a dream. i'm awake now. i'm awake and breathing. there's no one here. the scene is clear. there is no blood. hands clean. bed clean. there's no one here. i'm awake. it was just a dream. it's light outside. it's day. fuckin' hate nightmares. it was just a nightmare but my bones hurt and my eyes are wet.

you don't think much at the consequences, do you?

you seem to take me like a fuckin' pill. whenever you feel the need to. but you see, i have my own fears, plagues and diseases. needs. you don't . you don't . you can't. you can't see that. fuck it. i am aware. i am aware. i've got to stay aware.

meet you there

the lack of sleep...your polite voice at the phone...everything seems to make my skin liquefy.my tattoo fades away. i'll just get on the train. and go.

summer child

little miss
with black-olive skin
knows how to whisper stories
sheer oriental scent
lays on her sandy footprints
and
sun burns her skin with kindness
for she's a creature of the ocean
her strength
is genuine and discreet
like the pearls that grow on her breasts
too beautiful her story is
to remain sans titre.

building myself a story

i'm so in the mood for this, so in the mood for you, so willing to bleed and melt. i'm so sad, i'm so happy. i am... i am... oh, fuck all this. i'm in love.

fat tomcat, spoilt brat

the nemesis of the two beds
spits your freedom of choice in my face
violently
we coexist in silence
you-so conspicuous
I-so existing not
an avalanche of fears
scratches my tongue
as I swallow blood
I smile
for a cat cannot be tamed
with a whip of metaphors
but its purring fills
the room this night.

state of mind

i'm aware of who you are

no history of mine relates to you
no memory of yours relates to me
no Jesus here for the jew inside you
no stone here for the Magdalena inside me

i'm aware of who you are

your face seeks comfort on my eye-lids
your hands stumble at the edge of my womb
your mind takes a moment to ask itself ''what if...''
so that your lust and sorrow can fall asleep a little

i'm aware of who you are

no story on my tongue
no guilt on your finger-prints
a coarse feeling of sympathy
relates your lips to mine

i'm aware of what we are

so don't. don't you dare to judge me.