Παρασκευή, Οκτωβρίου 08, 2010

The odour of melancholia

I have no idea why I long to write in English. I feel attacked by thoughts, people, ideas, responsibilities, relationships and even worst  myself. God, I m so damn defenceless. Everytime I look at the mirror I come across this familiar stranger smiling back at me, trying to comfort me, persuade me that my life is not full of shit. Well, yeah it's not. Not full anyway. Let's say sort of filthy.

Filth. That's the right word at the right spot. All my actions, all my thoughts... Such a mess... MESS! Mess... miss... I miss you. I don't want to see your fucking cute face again with that sort of flirty blush and those horrible warm eyes of yours... but I sort of miss you. Yeah great now from mess I ve stretched my heart-strings into miss. No ms! no sir! Pfff lame...

That's paranoia I know. But so what? My brain was always like an endless maze, torturing me every single day with nonsense... SHUT UP. Ok... Silence. For a while... Everytime I try to stand up to myself I end up even more lonely. Why? And why the fuck I am writing this bullshit in English anyway!?

Nothing more to say... I love the weather. Clouds know how to show compassion... Bastard sky. Full of fake dreams and lights pretending to be stars. I ll find the meaning of today's life in an old, decayed wall garnished with some sort of wisedom never to be explicit, written by a poet never to be acknowledged. Hell... What's wrong with me?

Have a nice day...



Η φίλη σας,
Estella