pretty dolls with broken eyes [dead girl's poem]


"If you read this line, remember not the hand that wrote it


Remember only the verse, songmaker`s cry, the one without tears


For I`ve given this its strength and it has become my only strength.


Comforting home, mother`s lap, chance for immortality


Where being wanted became a thrill I never knew


The sweet piano writing down my life"


"Teach me passion for I fear it`s gone


Show me love, hold the lorn


So much more I wanted to give to the ones who love me


I`m sorry


Time will tell (this bitter farewell)


I live no more to shame nor me nor you


And you... I wish I didn`t feel for you anymore..."


Eva-cover


Her curls were laughing as she ran through the alley on her way home and the ill wannes almost dissapeared from her cheeks. The girl didn’t seem to have more than five before u’d look her in the eyes. Her dress was all wet because of the rain but that could wait, she was too incited to show the picture she found.

The shouts make her stop in the door, while hundreds of shivers traveled her body and hurting her ears. The raindrops fell on the floor but they were not aware she could hear. She’d want to tell him she’s sorry, but for change she only receives the rain of not-supposed-to-be-known blames and unspoken regrets that start making circles in her mind.People shouldnt make decisions with tears in their eyes, she thought, but she knows she wont be forgiven.She doesn’t really understand for what, but there must be something wrong she did. The fallen picture from her hands made them aware she was listening. She’s paralised with fear, can’t say a word.She knows what’s coming next. She also knows she has to keep her mouth shut, or it will hurt worse. This time no tear fell from her eyes, it actually felt the right thing.


Back in the swing set, she looks once more to her clown doll. Probably he’ll die with her.His huge smile still covers a big part of his face, but his look is different. He thinks she’s guilty too.Her own hands hit her head over and over again with all the strengh she found.So hard that the tears came up in a flash of second sparkling on the earth and making it spin. It felt even more right now. The blood was flooding her little shoes and everything got blurred.no congealed.no glows.just flowing, as inexpressive as empty hearts and broken dolls. Next to her, the wind was carrying an old blood-spoted photograph.

Post blue [or blue post]


Cutia de chibrituri rasuna pe marmura rece in toate colturile cimitirului.Fata scoase un betisor si aprinse toate cele 4 lumanari, apoi aseza trandafirii pe mormant. Nu simtea nimic din ceea ce ar fi trebuit sa simta, in afara de ura pentru omul din spatele ei iar ploaia nu mai spala nici un pacat de asta data.But you know what is? Revenge. I heard it's best served cold. Who's hungry?
The panic was long gone while the resegnance and indifference took place on her face.She knew that his influence on her mind was intensified by the circumstances and by that natural charm of him, the way he seemed honest and carrying, and by the burning love that killed both of them till ash was all that was left of them. All that made her proud that she could gave her life for him and even more happier that she won't leave him alone. It almost felt that it would be her right do to that. Goodbyes had no point and so there was the exhausted long list of explantions, expressed feelings and sorries for that old broken promise.There was nothing to say anymore, walking in circles with no words, with nothing at all but screams and regrets, memories and blue spots in the air.Revenge? If you still care don't ever let me know.

Lichidul lipicios o amuza la inceput pe micutza de langa pat, doar privirea mult prea fixa a mamei ii dadea uneori fiori.Albul rochiei contrasta dureros cu sangele putred de pe dantela si imbibat in podea iar vantul suiera prin camere facand ferestrele sa se ciocneasca. Fetita tresarea de fiecare data iar in curand picaturi calde ii umezira obrajii din motive pe care nici ea nu le intelegea, ci simplul simt al unui copil de 3 ani le cauzase, in timp ce privea intrebator spre omul ce stergea acum teava neagra a unei jucarii pe care ea nu avea voie sa o atinga. O certase atunci cand a incercat sa se joace cu ea.

Note: He wasn't a murder from the beginning.The obsessive thirst for more and absolution broke a mind and a happiness to sensitive and talented man. He was kind and pacient at the start. The world made him selfish and revengefull. He wasn't a murderer from the beginning..