Photography is visual poetry: “Underground hope”


, , , , , ,





, , , , , , ,

I found her exactly where I expected: she was staring vacantly at the sea, covered by a thin layer of clouds. Her eyes were empty, her mind travelling through unknown worlds and realities. Her hair, dark as the night, were dancing in the air: it seemed like the winter wind wanted to caress and undress her young body, to lift up the short skirt from her smooth thighs and make love with her.
I sat down a few metres away.
“Aren’t you cold?” I asked.
She laughed soflty, without even looking at me.
“Not really: after a while you get used to it”
“To coldness?”
“No, to pain”
A shudder crossed my backbone, silence filled the air for a few minutes.
“Are you coming on Friday?”
Her question sounded more like an imperative.
“Well, I’m not sure yet. My parents… you know…”
“I’m gonna convince them, don’t worry about it”
“…you don’t even know them”
“Invite me to your house for dinner”
“And then what?”
“The natural course of events will take control”
That sentence made me laugh.
“You’re weird”
“I know, that’s why people find me so attractive” she answered, getting up.
“Wait, where are you going?”
She fixed her green eyes into mine.
I looked at her while she walked in the fog. She left me there, alone with the sea.



, , , ,

I don’t remember us. I mean, I don’t remember why we were together, what we were.
But you know what? I do remember your hands.
Long, pale fingers always grasping, touching, caressing, hurting the world around you; trying to build something new, to destroy something useless.
Bony knuckles, sometimes scratched, dancing to the rhythm of your sinews.
Pale rose nails a little ruined on the top.
Palms facing the sky as soon as it started raining, wet and shining surfaces kissed by the wind.
Rough skin intersected by thin lines, pale veins flowing like rivers in your flesh.
The way they moved: pointing when showing me something interesting, relaxing when listening to my voice, shaking when unknown thoughts rushed through your mind.
How they used to run over my cheeks, lips, neck, shoulders, breast in the middle of the night.
I don’t remember you, but I do remember your hands.
I do remember the contact between us.

5 minutes of us


, , , , ,

It had never happened before: our lips remained closed. Nothing interesting to say or to share, nothing to enrich our love.


It’s funny how it makes you uncomfortable not to communicate. And it’s even funnier how each one tries so hard to find any silly word to rebuild the contact. It’s desperately funny.

5 minutes

The air we breathe is made of emptiness, the space between us grows bigger, and bigger, and bigger. You look away, detached: and it feels like eternity, it feels like the time has stopped forever.
It took me not too much to realize that I’d lost you. It took me

5 minutes of silence

Untitled #2


, , ,

Clohè was sleeping on the seat in front of me, I was looking outside the window: I could recognize every single constellation, count all the starts in the universe. Shadows of trees and houses were running in the distance, the moon was a huge shining button sewn on the black sky of the night. A hundred thoughts were piling up inside my head: my family, school and home, that I had left without any explanation, the first time that I’d seen Clohè a few days ago. She woke up, she looked outside the window, too. She made me nervous: her determination and courage made me feel even more insecure about myself. She had planned the whole trip to Berlin: six hours on the train on which we were, then two hours on a bus. She had come to look for me alone, she was the first to know the truth, she had convinced me to take part of that crazy trip. I admired and despised her at the same time: I needed to know more about her.
“So… where do you live?”
She turned to me, the expression on her face was still sleepy.
“Just outside Paris, with my grandfather…” she answered. The French accent made her voice sound even sweeter.
“And where does your family live?”
“…He’s my family”
Silence came down again on our mouths for a few minutes. Then she smiled to me with shyness.
“I’m sorry if I don’t speak too much… I’m not really used to meet new people. I can’t stand crowded places, I’ve always studied at home, I’ve never been into a real High School, and… I don’t know, it just makes me nervous to talk to you”
“It’s ok, don’t worry… I’m not a friendly one, either”
While she was laughing softly, my sight fell on two tall men seated at the end of the corridor: they were both wearing black jackets and pants, one of them was staring at me from a long time. His face was serious and illegible, he was murmuring something to his fellow.
I noticed that something was sticking out from his belt; I looked more carefully, paying attention not to be seen. Then a shudder run along my backbone, I stopped breathing: it was a gun.
I acted normally, as nothing was happening. She was staring at me, worried.
“Are you ok?”
“There are two men at the end of the corridor, on the right side. Don’t turn to look at them, I think they’re here for us”
“What do you mean? Tell me exactly where they are!”
“Fifteen seats behind you, more or less”
The train was stopping to the next station, a metallic sound resounded from the outside. She waited a few seconds, then she turned to look at them. I saw the muscles of her body stretching, her breath stopping, her skin turn to gooseflesh.
She gave me a sight full of terror.
“We have to get out of here, immediately!”
“What’s going on?”
The man that was staring at me was about to stand up, I saw his weight concentrating into the legs.
“Run!” I shouted, picking up my schoolbag from the floor and proceeding as fast as I could toward the exit behind me. The two men stood up quickly and started to chase us.
We got out from the train just in time: the automatic doors closed behind us, and I thought we were safe. But, as usual, I was wrong: exactly when I was about to stop running, one of them punched a window with his elbow, breaking the glass in thousand pieces and jumping on the sidewalk of the station.
“Shit!” I whispered, terrified.
We kept on running desperately, trying to sow them and banging our bodies against lot of people: we went out from the station, and I noticed a wood on my left side: it seemed the only place where we could hide. Clohè was just behind me, I could feel her breathing hardly. The two man were coming out from the station, looking around to find us; they had just crossed the street when we entered in the wood: it was completely dark, I could recognize the trees’ shapes, but not easily. I grabbed Clohè’s arm and I guided her through the forest: I didn’t know in which direction I was proceeding, I just wanted to go as far as possible. I heard a shot from the entrance of the forest, Clohè shouted, I don’t know if she was just scared or if that sound had hurt her ears: little wooden branches were scratching my face, my legs were starting to give up. Then, the trees became less and less, until we found ourselves on a plain and we had to stop: a few metres in front of us there was no more ground.
“A precipice” she whispered, being out of breath.
We had no way to escape.
“How far are they?” I asked, nervously.
“They’re close”
I walked to the edge of the precipice and I looked down: the air was painted with black, I could see anything. But then I noticed a trail of light dancing not too deep in that empty space.
“Clohè, come here!”
She came to me, I could read her eyes: there was hope in them. Her pretty face was ruined by dirt and scratches, trickles of blood were spread all over her skin.
“Can you see anything down there?”
She fell on her knees, looking carefully.
“…Yeah, there’s something moving”
“What is it?” I heard a male voice screaming not too far from us.
“I’m not sure, but it sounds like a rustle or a gurgle…”
“Water” I said, reassured.
She looked at me, and she realized what my plan was.
“No, no, no… You’re completely crazy! I’m not gonna jump from here!”
“You have any other option to save your life?! I don’t think so!”
This time I was not wrong: this time was the right one.
I took a few steps from the edge, ready to face the absolute darkness, and she walked next to me in silence. I could hear the two men, they were running through the last trees behind us.
“Ready?” I asked.
She shook her head, her body was quaking with fear.
I took her hand, I made a deep breath.
We jumped.

Hansel and Gretel


, , ,

It was one of those countless Sunday afternoons in which the minute hand of the clock seemed not to be moving at all. I had finished all the possible things I could do: I had cleaned the apartment, I had done the washing up, I had eaten most of the snacks inside my cupboard; I felt like a desperate housewife. The television was turned on, but the volume was not enough loud to permit me to hear what the young woman on the screen was saying: for the umpteenth time images of a social war, probably in an Arabic state, passed in front of my eyes. My look run from the screen to the window, again and again: heavy drops of tiny rain were ticking on the pane, sliding along the transparent surface like a surfer does on the ocean. For a moment I had the impression that they were alive and they wanted to run away from something: they went on faster every minute more, they consumed themselves during the trip, and then they were gone. Disappeared, like a rabbit in the top hat of a magician. That thought about the magic reminded me of my grandmother: my parents were very strict, and when I was about eight years old she was the most important person of my life. I remembered that I used to spend the Sunday afternoon curled up on her knees, smelling her strong perfume of lavender and listening to the Grimms’ fairy tales. I stood up and I started looking for that book. After a few minutes I was back on my chair, holding it in my hands: it was covered by a layer of dust that I blew off. My fingers touched lightly the washed out colours on the cover, then they flipped through the pages grown dark over time: a stream of memories was passing through my mind, making me feel relaxed and safe. A title captured my attention: “Hansel and Gretel”. Then everything became blurry.

* * *

I woke up after I don’t know how much time exactly, feeling bewildered and dazed: my back was hurting like hell, and I was lying on mold and pebbles. Tall trees stood out against the sky, a cold and humid air was caressing my blonde, ruffled hair. The violet dress I was wearing was dirty and wet, my shoes consumed. I stood up feeling still confused, when suddenly I heard a voice that was calling my name.
“Gretel! Are you ok?”
“…Hansel? – my brother was staring at me: he was pale and he had deep shadows under his eyes – I’m… I’m hungry, I want to go back home!”
“I know, I am too. Don’t worry, we’re going to find the bread crumbs today: now that the sun has raised, we just have to walk a little bit more and to look carefully around us”
Suddenly I had clear memories stocked in my head.
“We’re looking for those bread crumbs from two days already! Birds have eaten them all, don’t you get it? We should have used white pebbles as we did the first time that daddy tried to abandon us into the woods!” teardrops of desperation were streaming down my face.
“It’s not daddy’s fault, it’s her new wife’s fault, and you should know it. Now stop crying and follow me” he replied, and started to walk deeper into the forest. His voice sounded steady, but his hands were shaking and his eyes were filled of fear.
We walked for an endless time, and every minute passed I had more difficulties to move my body: my feet were killing me, I was out of breath and it was so cold; but most of all, I was starving. I would have given everything for a little piece of bread and a glass of warm water. Then, a miracle happened.
Hansel stopped unexpectedly and I collided with him, risking to fall down on the ground.
“What’s the problem?” I asked him, but he was petrified, looking at something in front of him. I turned my head from his face to the direction his eyes were staring at, and I was not able to breath or speak anymore. A quite big cottage was located a few metres far from us, but the astonishing fact was that it was completely made of sweets: yummy gingerbread and soft cakes composed the outside walls of the building, the window panes were made of clear sugar, the roof was covered by dark chocolate and cookies. An intense smell of honey and fruits was fortifying my senses: that cottage was the sweetest sight ever.
As soon as we got over the initial shock, we run towards the cottage and we started to eat it frantically, with no shame: after a few minutes, our faces were completely covered by sugar and chocolate.
Suddenly I felt like I was being watched by someone, so I turned my head: I grasped Hansel’s arm and a little shout came out from my mouth. An old woman was standing a few metres far from us, leaned on the main door: she was wearing a dress as black as the dark and her eyes were fastened on me and my brother, even though her sight seemed to be kind of absent; deep wrinkles marked her face, and she was holding a walking stick made of wood, probably because her back was strongly bowed.
“Don’t be afraid children!” she said with a soft tone of voice, showing a fond smile.
Hansel turned to her: “Who are you?”
“I’m the owner of this lovely cottage. May I ask you the same question?”
“Oh! We’re so sorry madam! – I said embarrassed – We were starving and your home seemed to be so tasty…”
“Our names are Hansel and Gretel. We got lost into the woods two days ago, we’re looking for the way to go back to our daddy…”
“How old are you, Hansel?” she asked, her eyes were now shining for the interest.
“I’m ten years old, my sister is younger than me”
She laughed with malice, and added: “It’s too dangerous to spend the night in the forest: come inside, I have milk, pancakes, apples, nuts and other food for you. I also have soft beds where you can sleep, children. Don’t be shy, come inside!” she took our hands politely and she guided us into the cottage. The inside was not as beautiful as the outside, but it was warm and secure at least. The old woman prepared two beds for us, and I fell asleep as soon as my head touched the pillow, unaware of the danger I was into.

Suddenly I woke up because someone was shaking my body with violence, and I saw the old woman standing in front of me: a strange expression was painted on her face, and she grasped my arms, hurting me. I moaned.
“Shut up, you little naïve girl: go in the kitchen and cook something good for your brother! He’s locked in a cage, and I want him to become really fat so that he’ll be tasty when I’ll eat him”; her voice was now soaked with excitement, her eyes were filled with an impatient sight.
I could not believe what I had just heard; I turned to Hansel’s bed: it was empty.
Tears were streaming down my face: I had the temptation to scream and run away as far as possible, but I knew I could not leave my brother alone with that witch. I went to the kitchen and I saw my brother into the cage: he looked at me desperately, his eyes were watery. Near by a fire was burning into a big oven. What had we done to deserve all this?
“Don’t worry Gretel, everything’s going to be fine” he whispered, but his voice was trembling with fear. My crying went on harder, and I started to cook the dinner silently.

I completely lost the sense of time inside that house, working everyday from dawn to sunset: I had just a few hours to sleep during the night, and I kept on having terrible dreams of the witch eating Hansel in front of my eyes, while he’s screaming and begging me to help him. Moreover, I was not too far from dying of starvation: the terrible witch ordered me to cook rich and delicious dishes for my brother, but then I could only eat a little piece of bread or some scraps. Even if Hansel had food everyday, he was not in a better condition for sure. He was locked in that cage twenty four hours a day: his skin was dirty and he used to moan because his muscles were hurting. But, most of all, he was terrified by the witch and by his terrible destiny: he used not to sleep either, fearing that the witch could put him inside the oven while he was not awake. Anyway, there was a positive fact: we had discovered that the sight of the witch was weak and that, consequently, she could not see very well. Everyday she asked Hansel to let her touch his finger, so that she could understand how fat he was getting. Once I had cooked a chicken bone for my brother, and he used to held out the bone when the witch wanted to feel his finger. It worked for a while: she was always complaining about how thin he was, and she used to blame me and my way of cooking, but I didn’t care much about all those shouts of anger, even if they terrified me: I just wanted Hansel to be safe and alive as long as possible. Then, the day I feared the most arrived.

One morning I immediately noticed that the witch was more nervous than the past days: she had spent hours walking around the house without an apparent goal, and every time she was passing in front of Hansel’s cage she took a look at him with a strange sight. But I didn’t realise what her plan was until she came to me while I was cleaning the floor.
“Light the oven: I’m going to have a delicious roasted lunch today”
I stopped breathing for a few seconds, pure fear started to run trough my veins: a wicked smile was painted on her lips, her hands were shaking and all her muscles were stretched because of her agitation. She seemed to be excited, impatient and wishful at the same time. She also seemed to be tired of waiting. And, most of all, she seemed to be hungry.
I stood there petrified until she repeated the command one more time: I walked toward the oven step by step, as slow as possible. Terrible images were stocked in my mind: Hansel’s body completely burned, the witch’s teethes piercing his dead flesh, her pale skin completely covered by my brother’s blood. Hansel looked at me while I was opening the oven to light it up: his lower lip started to shake, his eyes were filled of terror. I realized that I was about to see Hansel die, and that I was going to leave this world in the same way. I had to do something. I had to save him and myself.
“Emm… I can’t tell if it is hot enough or not…” I said to the witch as soon as she entered in the room.
“Don’t waste my time and do what I said to you!”
“I’ve already lighted the oven! But I’m not sure that the temperature is hot enough …”
“You, useless girl! Get out of the way, and let me see myself!”
She moved me aside violently, and she put her head very close to the oven.
It was the moment I was waiting for: I run against her and I pushed her as strong as possible with no hesitation. She fell into the oven, and I slummed quickly the door.
Desperate shouts and a sense of physical pain filled the air, the perfume of apples, sugar and gingerbread was now soaked with a strong smell of burnt flesh.
Then, everything was silent.

* * *

I woke up suddenly: I was out of breath and my forehead was beaded with sweat. I looked around, confused: I was sited on the chair, it was not raining anymore outside the window and the television was turned on. The clock said it was six o clock’ in the evening: I had been sleeping for two hours. My hands were still holding the Brothers Grimm’s book, the page open on Hansel and Gretel’s fairytale. I closed it immediately with a convulsive movement, and I averted my eyes.
The television was still showing bloody images on the cold screen: my eyes were captured by its pictures and videos, so I stood there in silence and I found myself in a surreal state of apathy and indifference.
Those things were not something new, neither something original.
We start to be used to violence from our childhood, apparently.




I could not move
I could not speak
I could not think

Thousands of crows
were breaking the clouds,
flying over my head

I could not move
I could not speak
I could not think

Thousands of crows
were breaking me down,
scratching at my heart and my soul

I could not move
I could not speak
I could not think

Thousands of crows
came from the past
to steal my future, and nothing lasts.

Jesus’ sight


, , , , ,

That morning they were sitting in the snow. Maggie was the oldest one: she was already eighteen, and she was dipping her naked fingers into the white ocean fallen from the sky during the night. She could feel thousand of needles tickling her hands, but she didn’t care: cold wind running through her almond-color hair, her eyes staring at the two people standing around there. On the right side, Matt: he was wearing a wrinkled, discolored t-shirt. She could see waves of gooseflesh moving on his pale skin, his crystal sight looking at the sky: he was lost in his own thoughts again. She turned to Jason, he looked back at her.
“Aren’t you cold?”
“I’m fine”
He rubbed his eyelids with the left hand. Curly, blonde hair frame his eyes: it’s not possible to distingue the pupil from the iris. They simply looked like two endless wells.
“You’re way too thin. You should eat more”
“Who do you think you are? My dad?”
“Uoh, calm down you two! – Matt said – We should find something to do, boredom is making us nervous”
“Ok, – Jason put his hands in the pockets of his dirty jeans – what about going to Max’s Cafè?”
“No, they caught me last week while I was stealing a freaking donut” Matt said.
“…a donut?” her ironic tone pissed him off.
“I was hungry, ok? Sorry if I’m not anorexic as you are Meg”
She stopped playing with the snow, shaking her head. Then she broke the silence.
“Let’s go to the church up the hill”
“That’s boring” Matt said.
“…not if we set it on fire” Jason replied.
“What you mean?” she asked, confused.
“My father has at least eight gasoline tanks in the garage. That jerk is always drunk, he won’t ever notice if one or two disappear”
“Are you serious man? – Matt scratched his hairless head – That sounds risky”
“That church is abandoned and falling apart from years: nobody cares, even in this religious, shitty town”
“Ok, let’s go” she said.
Matt helped her to stand up, then he kissed her cheekbone with his rough lips: sandpaper scratching soft skin. She accepted that apologetic gesture following Jason toward his house.

* * *

The top of the hill was deserted, only the decayed church was there: dead ivies were climbing up its scraped walls. Maggie looked around, enchanted: that place seemed surreal and magical to her. On the other hand, Jason was looking at her expression, finding it particularly sweet and innocent in that moment. They passed the three steps in front of the entrance and they opened the small main door: a loud squeak broke the silence. The inside was well-conserved, even though it was completely empty: there were just a few benches, the main altar all the way down the room and a big crucifix hanged on the right side.
“Hey Jesus!” Matt said, waving at the crucifix. Maggie laughed softly.
“C’mon, don’t act like an idiot” Jason said, passing Matt a half empty bottle of whiskey. He wanted his voice to sound serious and resolute, but it was actually full of excitement. His only thought was that place burning from top to bottom, he could not focus on anything else.
Matt passed to Maggie the first tank and she opened it: a strong smell pierced their noses violently. Then they started to spill gasoline all around the place, laughing and drinking the alcohol like it was holy water.
Once they finished their work, they gathered close to the altar: they had already decided to go out from the small back door, so that they could see the show from a better position.
Jason took out from his left pocket a red matchbox.
“Can I strike the match, J?” Matt said.
Jason lifted up his shoulders, pretending not to care. Maggie gave Matt an envious sight.
It took Matt just a few seconds, then the place was on fire. At first little, wavy flames run across the room following the gasoline traces: warm colors filled up the emptiness of that place dancing on the dusty floor. The pure air became every second more dimmed and impregnated of grey smoke: everything was magically blurry and confused. They were so thrilled that they could not speak nor move. But after a few minutes they started to cough, their eyes to tear, their heads to spin.
“Let’s go out” Maggie said, walking toward the back door.
Jason didn’t move, he could not stop looking at the fire, excited like a teenager who’s loosing his virginity.
“J, we gotta go! Move your ass!” Matt said.
Maggie reached the door and pushed it. It didn’t open.
“Matt! The door is locked!” her voice was full of fear.
“What?” Matt said.
A rafter fell down a few feet far from them, crashing against the floor.
“THE DOOR IS LOCKED!” she screamed.
Matt run to the door, he pushed Maggie away and he tried to open it with all his strength. Nothing happened.
“No, no, no! – he said desperately – J! J, the door is locked! J!”
Matt could hardly see him through the smoke, standing motionless.
“Maggie, run to the main door! Now!”
Matt heard her cry and her steps, he reached Jason and grasped his arm, dragging him away.
Everything was grey, the air was too dense even to breath: the last thing he could see was Jesus staring at him with his severe, empty eyes.
Matt just kept on walking, tripping up into rubbles, hearing cracks and bumps all around him. Then the air became lighter, a little light pierced through his sight. He reached the outside, falling off the steps in front of the main door.
He didn’t move for a few minutes: his hand was still grasping Jason’s arm violently, his sweaty body was lying on the icy-white snow. He felt Jason panting and trying to stand up.
“…Matt? Are you ok?”
Matt opened his eyes: they were hurting as hell.
“No, I’m not ok!” he grunted, staying on his knees and touching his left shoulder. It was covered by blood, but all the rest of his body seemed to be intact.
“That fucking door was locked, and you didn’t even move!”
“I couldn’t move!”
“I don’t know! I’m sorry, ok? I’m sorry!”
Silence. Jason’s voice was trembling.
“Fine” Matt said.
They looked at each other: they were completely covered by ash. They burst into laughter, relieving the tension.
“…Wait – Jason stood up, his expression turned serious – Where’s Maggie?”
All around them there were only trees, snow and the sound of the fire, still burning.



, ,

[A couple is sitting in the corner of an elegant restaurant: their names are Emily and George, their baby is in a stroller between them. Lights are suffused, jazz music is playing in the background and most of the costumers have already left. They’re talking to each other in low voices]

E: “…and do you remember when we rented that huge boat in France and Jackson slipped in the water as he was getting on board?”


G: “Oh yeah, his new Rolex was dead after that dive! He was so pissed off! …When was it? Ten years ago?”

E: “Twelve actually… [silence, she sighs] …we were so young and happy”

G: “We still are”

[Emily drinks the last sip of white wine from her glass, she looks at the baby for a few seconds, then she turns back to George]

E: “Today’s been a very nice day, by the way”

G: “Yeah, we needed to spend some time together and do something special… I’ve missed you lately”

[Emily’s face blushes, she smiles looking at George. She turns again toward the baby, and her expression suddenly turns serious]

E: “…I’m worried about Angela”

G: “What’s the problem?”

E: “…I don’t know, I feel like we’re losing her”

G: “What do you mean?”

[Few seconds of silence]

E: “…She’s just one now, she needs us. But what about the future? We’re not gonna be indispensable anymore”

G: “It won’t happen. We’re her parents, she won’t ever leave us”

E: “I’m not sure about that. Look at our families: our parents are strangers to us. We started to detest them as soon as we turned thirteen… Our stories are different, but they ended up the same way…”

G: “Listen to me: we have to protect her, and the only way to make her both happy and safe is to keep her as close as possible”

E: “But what are we gonna do if she starts to show her freedom and independence?”

G: “We would both impose ourselves without any problem: we’ve always been strong and severe. It will come naturally.”

[Emily plays nervously with her hands]

E: “That’s not enough, she won’t listen. She will hate both of us, and we won’t be able to keep her in our comfortable, warm home. We’re gonna lose her presence …her love”

G: “Calm down, sweetie. I promise you everything’s fine”

[George tries to take her hand, Emily moves it away: she’s shaking, her eyes are watery]

E: “I don’t want all this to happen! She… she will go away, she will be completely alone, and we’ll be alone too.  You understand that George? I don’t want… I don’t want to be abandoned by my own daughter. I would not be strong enough to handle it”

[A tear streams down her face, she looks down sobbing. George touches her tears, caressing her cheeks]

G: “Please, don’t cry: you’ve already been sad for enough time, sweetie. That phase of our lives has passed: you’re not compulsive, depressed or obsessive anymore. And I’m so proud of you”

[Emily looks at him raising a shy smile, making sure nobody around has noticed her moment of weakness]

G: “Take a deep breath, think of something that makes you feel better. It always works”

[Silence. Her smile turns to a serious and cold expression]

G: “So, what are you thinking about?”

E: “…We should stop the time, never let Angela grow up”

[Her eyes are full of excitement, she looks directly in George’s eyes]

E: “She would be our little, lovely doll. She would never cry… nor change”

G: “…wait. Are you talking about killing her?”

[Emily doesn’t move, she keeps on looking at George silently. George smiles, and then he starts to laugh]

E: “…I’m serious! What’s wrong with you?”

[George continues to laugh convulsively, drying a tear with his hand]

G: “You’re so absent-minded sometimes!”

E: “Stop it! Why are you laughing at me?”

[He smiles sweetly to her, moving one lock of hair behind her ear]

G: “Because we’ve already killed her, darling. Don’t you remember?”

[Silent. Emily turns to her right side, looking at the corpse of her baby lying in the stroller]

E: “…Oh. You’re right”

[She takes her daughter’s hand, caressing it softly with her fingers. George looks at the scene smiling tenderly]

E: “Her hands are so small, cute and… cold”

G: “…and they will always remain so”



, , , ,

I lost myself
in the middle of a street
selling my body, naked
and vulnerable skin

Looking for something
physical, pure
something to make me new
less uncertain, insecure

I found new truths,
hidden desires
prohibited words
hopeless buyers

Touch my flesh
bite my chest
taste my blood
lick my scars

Don’t judge
Don’t lie
Everybody knows the feeling
of doing something wrong
that makes you feel alive

Untitled #1


, , ,

Hold that syringe and pierce your fragile skin: feel the needle penetrating layers of flesh and nerves; the liquid fulfilling your veins and melting in your blood, a divine combination rushing to your brain fast.
Explore your subconscious, swim into the darkest and most perverted dream: taste grief, desperation, disappointment through your teeth.
Discover how much pain you can handle at once: kill cigarettes on your legs, limbs, arms.
Collect scars as they were rare butterflies or ancient coins: they will never fade away, they will be an eternal choice.
Satisfy your sexual desire: let a hunter capture your virginity, feel the adrenaline dance like fire.
Lay in the middle of the street: don’t stand up if a car comes closer, stay there and feel yourself free.
You’ll understand your limits, feelings, fears. And then you’ll come up with a sensation:
self-destruction is such a sweet form of creation.

A new start


, , , ,

I remember

fire burning my flesh
dust all over the floor
hands over my breast
smoke ready to soar

acids cutting my veins
violence raping my soul
my mind tortured by pain
innocence lost out of doors

Desire to find a new place
Desire to believe and escape

Forget your past,
scars and tears
No more emptiness
No more fear.

Two little sisters


, ,

“What’s that?”
“I don’t know”
Cold water
running under my feet
screaming at the wind
“What’s inside there?”
“I don’t know”
piercing through the wood
moving around us two
“You want to go in?”
“I don’t know”
I walked
towards the cave
Her eyes
staring at my face
“Aren’t you scared?”
“I don’t know”
A voice
called my name
My white dress
moving like the ocean’s waves
I entered in there
Darkness swallowed me
I never came back
She missed me.

The power of violence


, , ,

She was lying in the dirt,
looking at me like the doe does with the wolf
Sky-blue tears
streaming down her face
Fresh blood
staining her red lips
Those lips that I used to love
Those lips that left me alone
Her body shaking
like an innocent flower in the middle of a storm
I could touch her fear
I could taste it in my mouth
I came up to her
She screamed out loud
I felt like I was God
I felt like I was