good friends, good books and a sleepy conscience: that is the ideal life


I know I’ll find you one day

Laying on the grass, with the sun in your eyes, with the stars in your  hair

You’ll be yours and I’ll be mine and still

Stretched in me and inside my heart

We’ll blink using the same eyelashes

And we’ll kiss the same warm lips

Not your lips, nor mine, but ours

We’ll stare at the sky with the same iris

When I find you I’ll be unable to let go

You’ll be stuck to me like someone had made us one

And we will look at the same sky

There will be no time and space

Just us and the universe



Trust issues

I don’t believe in this simpleness that’s filling up my moments
I have big honesty issues
According to what you want to believe
Meaning that I’d like to lie at least once
And say that I’m not arrhythmic
When you look through me
I’d like to think that there’s a reason
For this solitude that fills my head with sand

Fighting darkness

I will be completely honest. No matter how much emotional pressure you’re gonna apply, I will not do the ice bucket challenge. Basically because I’m a bitter old woman who doesn’t want to participate in any worldwide challenges and because I refuse to be coerced into charity. I believe that awareness has already been raised.

However, I will do something else for another malady that is poisoning our world. One that has killed 7 times more people, receives 10% of the funds that were raised by the ice bucket challenge, and is still perceived as a joke by the general public. The number of the people incapacitated by it is not released to the public, and it never will, because the stigma remains across the centuries, and it is the real silent killer. There’s also plenty of important people who have died because of it, but people still perceive it as a joke.

So I have composed a little poem about it. I’m sure there are other people who have been touched by this issue. So even if it was you, your mom, your dad, your sister, or if you’re ashamed to admit it, I’d like you to spend a second to realize how many people have been touched and some destroyed by depression.

do you have any idea how I feel when they pretend it doesn’t hurt?
do you have any idea what it feels like to feel like you’re gonna die in that dark corner of the room?
do you know what it feels like to have that room’s walls closing in on you?
do you believe that a simple „cheer up” will do?
do you have any idea how bad it hurts when you’re told to smile even though your insides are broken?
how horrible the stigma is?
how many people I’ve pushed away because of you?
how much ignorance stings?
do you know how much I’d like to beat you?
neither do they.


Comfortably numb

I went to bed thinking that I’ll sleep a bit and see how I feel afterwards. And then I slept for three hours.

When I woke up, no one had missed me. No messages received, no calls, no nothing. Perhaps if I can sleep more, I will see a difference. Anything that’s changed because I wasn’t there.

I slept more this time, six hours or so. Still no difference. Nothing had changed in my absence. So I just increased the periods of time, until I got to eighteen hours. Surely something must be different.

No. No one misses me. No one feels that I am gone.

I think this must be the worst feeling in the world. I don’t think being hated is worse than this. The feeling that no one is affected by your not being there, yes, this is the most horrible feeling in the world.

So you go into that comfortable numbness. Again.

Your mind goes blank. Your body gets heavier. You would like to move but you can’t. In a dream you hear the ringtone that you’ve set for your phone. You don’t have a clue what exactly is going on but it makes sense that you’ve fallen back asleep.

Everybody cares for your mental health, wants to pick you up when you’re down but nobody knows how to do it. So they get in the way, hoping that, from so many bruises, maybe you’ll learn and open your eyes. But you’re not so easy to convince that this life is prettier once you have your eyes open.

And it’s not.

But maybe, if you’d open your eyes, you’ll put some clothes on so you don’t tremble the way you do now.

Or maybe you’d prefer to close them right back once you see your surroundings.

The same numbness… Is there no cure for this drowsiness with a faint carbon dioxide smell? The room smells of candles and sleep and that makes you even more awake. You just want to lay in that bed for years and years and I can’t tell if that would be enough. But this only happens during the daytime. At night you wake up and read novels and listen to Pink Floyd and live under the impression that nobody loves you. And it’s true.

You try to put some order into your thoughts before the sleep comes again but you can’t, because your eyelids are dropping. And that voice is yelling in your head, it’s trying to get the truth from you. And you don’t know how to answer. This is a story „to be continued”.

Hey, you… can you help me?

Delirium (part one)

Fourth day of staying in bed. The surroundings start to blend into my dreams. My skin tone is the colour of the walls. The cough has started to sound like music to my eardrums.

Oh, if only Vincent Van Gogh had a poetic ear… (see what I did there?)

Anyway, that night I dreamt of all the things that the wolf was whispering in my ear. You know I dream about one of two things: wolves and trains.

Soon (or so I thought) I woke up and the image of that damn wolf was already blurry. Maybe I’m going crazy. Anyway, the fact is that shortly after I opened my eyes and my french tourists were still there, that crazy waiter was roaming the hallways but he didn’t come back in again. Maybe he found some common sense in a corner of his mind, as I was sleeping after all and he had the voice of a heavy cigar smoker. Anyway, the main thing that made me happy was that wolf was no longer there. Of course. What would a wolf do on a train anyway?

I had this feeling that I was on this train for an eternity. But it had been just an hour. Maybe this will give me the chance about what I plan to do next. Or maybe I’ll just sleep a bit more.

Basically, what I want to say is that this „a bit more” turned into several hours. And that lady from the railway services was already yelling that the train will arrive in about five minutes. What is the purpose of your visit? Thank God, no one will ask me this question here. That would be an interesting conversation after all.

What happened to me next? I don’t think it’s worth talking about it. Two days in which I forgot what’s going on with me, but not with further interest to other people’s activities. Just an eternal forgetfulness, marginless, limitless, but somehow remembering at every step that I will be soon returning to my routine, without any amazing answers to life’s questions. Just more questions, exponentially more, with no answers whatsoever. So I just laid there for days thinking that the moments when it’s just me and myself in a room will get fewer and fewer. But never have I stared at the walls like in those couple of days. See that, wolfie? But the wolf, as it would be normal from a physiopatological point of view, never responded, nor ever appeared in my dreams again.

Even more so, I can’t remember my dreams. My nights are filled of black sleep without dreams, long nights from which I can barely wake up. But I do, every morning, just to remember myself how many things I am missing by being in this transit state and that’s it. Because this is what I do. I transit. I move from here to there and I’m looking for answers in trains and tramways. That’s just because I forget that the every day man’s vision is that these two psychiatrists of mine are only stacks of iron. Maybe I should borrow this concept and tell John, alias the „every day man” that he is only a pack of carbon, hydrogen, oxygen and nitrogen? Just a thought.

When I got back to my dear old town it seemed like I wasn’t in the mood for the transit anymore, this going back and forth that awarded me some extra time to consider the answers that I needed to move on. My roommate was too busy to listen to me, so it was just me and my music all over again. I’m not even going to mention my colleagues; between two glances, a shallow advice and a remark like „you look like you need a strong coffee” there wasn’t any more conversation left in their heads.

I started thinking about what I’ve achieved in this lifetime. When you meet your old middle school classmate on the street and he’s asking you „how have you been” or even „how are you”, what will you respond? I’m fine. That could actually mean so many things. It can actually mean that you had cancer and took your medication and they performed a double mastectomy on you but now you’re „fine”. It could mean you’re in love with your cubicle neighbour at work for the past five years but don’t have the guts to tell him and he has a girlfriend anyway so you hooked up with his best friend and now you’re „fine”. Or it can mean you’re not fine at all but you’re fooling yourself saying this anyway until you’ll get to one of these two things: one – mental institution, or two – you are content in your „fine” rather than wanting „excellent, amazing, fantastic”. The second one usually happens when you can’t evolve because you’re scared to move forward. And that’s because you might forget who you were. Or maybe it’s because, going straight ahead, with your eyes closed, you might fall and break your neck. Just maybe.


for you

I break my crystal slippers

I shatter my eyeball

I watch the news journal

But you don’t care


for you

I lost the diamonds in my hair

I bit the red  apple

I lost everything I valued

But you don’t care


for you

I was the most beautiful person on earth

I forgot that we’ll only become a grave

I learned to smile and hope

But you don’t care anymore


for me

there’s lilac, spring and sunsets

happiness, smiles, laughter

dementia, beauty, bliss

And for you

… Nothing, just nothing …

One (phone rings)

Hello? Are you there? Are you hearing or listening?

There are moments when I wish I’d hung up

but there are times when I regret that I am me

and yet I get off the phone so quickly, it’s late

and she’s sleeping … I do not think she deserves a wake up


You know, I wonder … why is the phone ringing

so loudly today?

it’s more nervous

more hectic …

even the music seems louder


Wind bends the trees and

rain drowns the sand

and you sleep there in your nest

like a nothing that’s drifting along

will the phone wake you up?


If ever there was sun on my street

It means that yesterday the lights went off

Earth is the only one I embrace

and sand is the only one that touches me