The Other You

She’s in bed
it’s 10:00 pm, the series in the background
provided her with comfort noise
it’s odd, she always needs sound
not traffic sounds, but music,
conversation, brightness, light

She’s in shorts, in her room
facing a wall, with a painting
it’s not straight, but her body is too weak
to get up and fix it, yet it’s fucking with her brain

Her legs are exposed
her skin is happy, as the fan blows
chilly breezes across from them
lacing them with a coat of cold

Her legs are crossed, as if they missed one another
those long winter months, kept them covered
hidden from each other

She’s sitting on her bed
back relaxed on the mountain of pillows
that separated her from the wall
she’s sitting, lethargic
yet at peace

She’s enjoying her aloneness
it’s solitude, not loneliness
please don’t confuse
she picked up her wine cup
ornamented with droplets of humidity
she sipped it, licked her lips after she’s done

She’s not paying attention to what’s
playing on television, even though her eyes
are fixated on the screen,

She’s sitting on the bed, legs crossed, body stretched
back straight, fan on, painting in front, eyes on television
but mind somewhere else

Electricity went out!
“That’s great” she sarcastically uttered
she decided to light a cigarette,
she took one out of her crumpled pack
“PHEW, it’s not broken” she sighed in relief

As she sparked her lighter
she saw a shadow, in front of her
she took a short breath
counted to 3, then lit that flame again

With her hand shaking,
she could see the borders of the shadow
with anxiety seeping in, she moved her flame around
she could see her surroundings intact
but that shadow was sitting there, not moving
looking back,

it said nothing, it did not even flinch
after a second or two, she could see it
standing up and coming closer
her hand got numb, the light went off, dropping the lighter
she could feel the shadow against her

it embraced her,
she was stiff with fear,
she managed to grab her phone
she put the light on

Her walls were covered with writings
she squinted her eyes, since her glasses were no where to be found

it was her writing, or writings for that matter


she went on reading and remembering
each and every sentence, every quote
every word,

the writing was lit
it glowed,

the walls were covered from ceiling to floor
all four walls

She wanted to move but couldn’t

the shadow still hugged her, making her motionless

cigarette went out, she noticed there no smoke in the room
the room lit with words

She heard something, she couldn’t make up what it was
it felt like her mind was conversing with her

“you have a world out there
scribble those thoughts on walls
floors, ceilings, engrave them on humans
tattoo them on rebels
voice them across oceans and skies”

She felt as if she was drugged
she was numb, her mind was racing
so were her heartbeats

“who the fuck are you?
who is this?” she asked frantically

Electricity came back

she saw her wine cup was done
a pencil in hand and papers of random scribbles

“Could it be
that the writer in
me has a world
of her own?”

logan by oil Mcavoy



Butterflies you say
they have fled my being
to a lost land
that adventurers seek

Goosebumps, the ones
that ignite your skin
in a series of nervous reactions
have hibernated
hiding away from the coldness
that has taken over

Adrenaline has become an acquired drug
the one you need a prescription for
or nepotism to get your hands on some

Eye glistens, those are now
found in a fairy tale, the one
that once you narrate
starts a series of
“awwws” and melodies
of lovely sighs

Loss of appetite, well
that’s there, but that just
a bodily calling, for fear of
starvation – no longer
linked to euphoria

Rosey cheeks, they now
reminisce over the memories
of warm moments, blushing
torments, that expose the inner
most deepest feelings

Flame inside, it has dimmed
making way for more ideas
new replacements, new habits
new lights, bright delights
in the form of creative juices

Ah nostalgia, what a trip
what a glorious memory,
yet for some messed up reason
when you lay your tender lips on mine
You spontaneously ignite
the serious of previous events
in a split
resulting in an explosion of color
painting my world

agnes cecile

Art by Agnes Cecile

True Love

She always took the road everyone traveled
She perfected every age, with a to do list
she always knew where each step took her
The surprise element that hypnotized her
was dormant in the back of her head

The sidewalks memorized every step
every morning mood
they even complimented her motion
with sun rays and sometimes rain

She once slipped
and fell on a different path
the road was no longer familiar
her senses awakened

All those lists she had in mind
fell with her,
She stood up
and kept walking
that’s what she did best

But something was missing
her memory was erased
she tried to squeeze her brain
to get a clue…at least
to serve as a  base to start with


Total blank

With courage in her gut
churning, she felt the magic
of innovation starting from her toes
to her eyes, they started to gleam

She took the first step forward
in the foreign land, it was full of monsters
full of blood thirsty, personality crushing
mythical creatures, that wanted a piece of her

The gleam in her eyes, the brightness that is
was her weapon, since they gave a sneak peek
to the turmoiled soil she had suppressed for so long

The ray of light, burnt all those who attacked
little did she know, she had such powers

As she walked, the road changed from a smooth sidewalk
to a vertical mountain, so beautiful, but yet so deadly
the rocks fooled her by their sturdy-ness, but she always
had a balance, that was..again..suppressed

She slowly calculated every step now, it no longer became a routine
She felt she was being born again, as the oxygen levels declined
the breaths she took increased, filling her lungs
with new air

As the weather got colder, the wind grew stronger
and blew off her cover, the jacket that warmed her
the scarf that held her together
But she felt something else was also being blown

Her love for words, the way they understood her
the way they leak from her fingertips onto a blank paper
Time was being lost, so was her time for words
her love affair with words, poetry, books,
That passionate lustful escape
that gave the world a taste of her identity
that scraping, scratching desire that scratched
her comfort zone, slowly, breaking that bubble

Her true love, those words that listen
that dance with her mood, that strum her heart
that are the causes of every joyful and miserable tear

Her true love, her words

She refused to let go, of those, she closed her eyes
as she stood on top of that mountain
she let out a scream, asking time
to extend itself
giving her more time to spend with her words
her lovely sadistic words that embrace and disappear
at will

When she finished, she felt her body
as goosebumps covered her body
she felt something else
She lifted her shirt…

Time did her a favor, it used her body as a canvas
to engrave its love
nothing is more beautiful than pale white
naked skin
engraved with the pulchritude of
her true

words on skin

Can this be ?

Can this be
all that cocktail of events
can they merge in a beautiful
martini cup
The dense ingredients and the light
how could they possibly create such pretty hues?
They are shaken once, twice, three times to ensure
the fact that the weightless ones tangoed
with the more heavy dark ones?

I stood there
pondering at my reflection
watching as cocktail pours itself
to fill me up with intoxicating
Watching as my skin color changes
thickens and as my appearance ages

I do not have wrinkles
nor do I have creases
but as the cocktail of life
pours itself endlessly into me
I can observe the changes

I have the same eyes, the ones I used to
marvel at boys with, but now they marvel
at literature, at music, at the beauty of men
the same eyes that used to converse with passion
now they converse with logic and a bit of insanity

I see my reflection in front of me
in comparison to the old version
in my mind’s eye
I see the innocence slowly being
drowned away, slowly changing
to rationale

I see that my silhouette is slowly
being sculpted by the toxicity
of life’s cocktail

As it slowly fills me
I can feel my sobriety fading
being replaced by a different

I am not sure if they call it intoxication
because I am fully aware, I am aware

I am aware of the touches that play on my spine
I am aware of the kisses that I plant on lips
I am aware of the tears that glide down my cheeks
salting my sweet cheeks
I am aware of the naked moments that strip
all sense of bashfulness
I am aware of the smiles and laughter
and ignite the darkness of the night
I am aware of the spontaneity that pushes
me to dare myself

I am aware of that one more drink
that will push me off the edge
I am aware of this body that I have now
I am aware of what I can inflict
and how I inflict
I am aware of the person I am
I am aware that I no longer reflect
my old identity
I am aware that I surprise you
with my unexpected behavior
I am aware of the now

I am aware that I am in control
and I am independent
I am aware that I earned it

That cocktail is slowly eroding my naivety
My body is changing, curving with every
swirl that drink makes
My reputation is forming
My being is slowly being
set in stone, it just needs a bit more
one more round of that cocktail
let’s discover this self
that I still am

woman back


You are a sculpture

a beautiful one, carved meticulously
by one of the greatest artists that has ever lived

You, in the center, pose
Your naked body is slowly evolving
Your skin is slowly being smoothed over
by sand paper, followed by the artist’s caress
doubling his confirmation that it is as soft as it looks

He sees you in his mind
it’s like the artist has foresight
he can foresee the future of what should
slowly morph into being

Like any artist he is striving for originality
with a touch of uniqueness and brush strokes of
He started with marble
because your skin is that soft, he wants you to be
the epitome perfection and your skin is just the beginning

He slowly guides his tools
from the top of you statue
starting with your hair
each strand he sculpts has a story
he smiles, knowing that every curl
every golden lock should be in place
the one on her forehead to the one the dangles on her neck

He is moving downwards, her eyes
“what a great choice of marble” he thought
as he adds the details in her eyes, the marble shone back
He carved her pupils in a way
that shows her marveling at him,
a reflection of his stare

As he slowly sculpted her jaw bone
he slowly moved down her neck
he could smell her, he carved the bone structure
the collar bones, the way he feels them

He smoothed the silhouette, that hourglass figure
he reached the waist, where he rests his hands
upon embrace

As he lost himself in his art
time was ticking and without noticing
his sculpture was slowly changing form
tic toc tic toc

Her thighs he slowly dented the line
where her muscles show
he knew that those legs will go places
he made them strong and beautiful

he smoothed the legs, the marble
was gorgeous

as he took a step back
he took a deep breath
and exhaled life into her

he looked at her
“you are the original
stay as such
life will do a better

life will add the
finishing touches”

Isamu Noguchi with Undine (1925) It's like Pygmalion


Can your heart
shield itself
when it comes to feeling?

Can you become immune to the
butterflies? Have they fled your body
seeking brighter spaces?

What is this feeling
engulfing you, thickening your skin
generating gyrations of power in your
being, this feeling of “not feeling”
this inhaled breath that fills your lungs
with apathy
Yes, that’s it!

Your lack of concern with the usual
has stitched itself to your personality
to a point where your ego gulped it
like the last drop in your drink
during “Last call”

You are falling for it
You are oblivious to it
You have never felt it,
Time… time looked upon you
and said
“You have had enough, you’ve had it coming”
“You’ve been there and now here, have this
take one pill … its effects are lifelong”

You take it, curious and afraid
of this irreversible trip
You look at the pill and squint to read
the stamped name
“Self realization”
it hits your brain, awakens your neurons
Self realization is the the drug of choice
its effects range from highs of self confidence
lucid mind flashes over clean judgement
feelings of power, outspoken at times
since it’s irreversible, the low of that drug is
none existent

You stand there,
You feel the drug, you feel your weight
on the ground, your presence
You feel that illuminating halo
around you
Your view has changed
it’s one of the effects
Self realization has happened
you’re on a one route path
You’re feeling…
and for some sick twisted reason
you are loving it
Loving the power seeded
in the veins of apathy

but wait..

are you



feeling less


We are humans
always in need
always lacking something
never complete

Our bodies yearn
for a touch, not any sensation
but that which poisons your skin
with tingles of feelings

That warm tracing sense
barely touching your dermis
skin on skin, yet so full
of emotion

Our minds, always soaking
the knowledge around us
always gawking at any new
opportunity to learn, to research
to dissect, to inspect, to
satiate your ever lasting curiosity

Here comes the one
whose power is so strong
it voodoo’s you into insanity
…the heart
whose mind is one of its own
The heart has the power to hypnotize
the mind, paralyze logic and overcome

The heart yearns for love
love of any and love for any

It tricks the body
by injecting it with butterflies
caged in the stomach
A pasted smile, giggles
a natural high, lack of appetite
ease and a sense of selflessness
a feeling of warmth and a perception
of world domination
Symptoms of which any drug can induce
in gleeful circumstances

Why is the heart so easily
seduced by only drug that quenches
its thirst for life, or is it?

Silly heart of ours, why so weak
in the face of this amorous potion?
Does it seduce you with its nakedness
and transparency?
Do you send messages to the body tricking it,
igniting its craving for sensual touches?
Do you send electric shocks to the brain
demanding it to shut down, all its sense
of purpose?

Oh dear heart of ours
Are you a junkie dependent
on the love drug, the love bug?
Do you seek its high purposefully
physically and mentally?
Do you enjoy finding yourself
between the sweaty shuffled sheets?

We have analyzed you and studied your steps
You are spontaneous, like any addict
you enjoy the here and now,
You want to be naked, you enjoy it
Yet, when you come crashing from that
love drug
it is the body that suffers
and the mind that wakes up
leaving us unprepared
for the unpremeditated
love – hate

Oh silly heart of ours
Do you enjoy every skipped beat?
We are aware that your addiction
is what keeps us
humans yearning, longing
for a taste of
that insatiable
love drug

The anatomy of a love junkie

The anatomy of a love junkie