My Hero(in)

It feels like you’re in a coma, in an ever freezing hell. Half-numb, you remember being alive only when you wake up screaming in the middle of the night, moonshine, only a razor – blade cut away from absolution.

It tastes like miles of hot asphalt stuck to your mouth palate and you can’t refrain yourself to push your tongue there, licking it with its tip until it burns and you start to vomit stardust and rainbows of blood.

It sounds like the only thought you still have, began a killing spree and is chopping to death all your hopes and expectations. And the chainsaw-sound it makes while tearing apart the last and faintest dream you had for a better life never stops.

It looks like comics, everything, in black and white, drawn by a drooling lunatic. Humans pass by and you see through them, as they are plastic cans of gas and water. They watch you, but you only see them as shadows dancing before your eyes, making sounds and doing things that are beyond your comprehension. The veil of puss and guts that rises in front of you, the stench of your own corpse, the shaking of your fleshless bones, the agonizing screams filling your brain, they all prevent you from being on the other side, where spring arrives in slow-motion and daffodils blossom shyly. Incarcerated in your death-row cell block, it’s only you who you are seeing, in the corner of a dirty mirror, stained with your blood.

Time froze. And space stands still. Everything is silent except for that chainsaw in your head that goes on and on, so loud you want to rip your eyes out, stick your fingers through your skull and push the off button forever.

And there’s the pain. You feel like a wounded animal, trapped in a cage of ribs, among the dead leaves of a heart.

Sometimes you wish you were swept away by the darkness, fall in its embrace and let go of everything that means sanity. But you still want to live. Yet. Not for long. Just for now. Against the blizzard of thousands needles pinned in your every fiber, every nerve, you still crawl from one corner of the cell to the other. Just to feel your muscles twitching. You talk loud, only to hear yourself and whatever looney tune is there to listen. Your voice it’s cracked and low, no pitch, just a faint sound of desperation and decay. You tell yourself you had found light so many times before, you’ll find it this time too. But this time is different and every time is harder. This time, light shines away from you, hiding in the depth of your nightmares and the creepy corners of this tomb. This time, you’re not every junkie’s happy ending. You’re only the ending.

You’re here on your knees again, at the gates, nails scratching the rough ground and the muddy round ponds your tears break into the dirty floor stare back at you laughing. The road ends here, they whisper. You clench your teeth in the iron bars, trying to get up. But this is the break point. This is where day turns into night, where angels become demons, where air becomes sulfur, where everything you looked for becomes everything you’re running away from. This is the final station. Beyond this point, there’s only the void and the blackness. And the monsters that wait for you, ready to welcome your soul into the abyss. You already summoned them. Violence, recklessness, coldness. You hear the bells toll and you know the hour of your last confession has arrived.

This is withdrawal.

You wish for your poison every single second as you live and breathe. But it’s not longer there. And will not ever be. You are denial. You are anger. You are torture. You are on the twisted rollercoaster of mixed emotions and bad decisions. You’re Hell’s prodigy child. They’ll give you an Oscar for your entire career. You are a gun pointed to your head, the ghost that haunts your mortal shell, the burnt picture of what you used to be in a passed life.

You’d trade your soul with the Devil for another fix. For the ultimate fix. For the dose that would keep you alive as long as you’re meant to. The dose that would bring you back outside in the sun.

But then again, what soul is left there to trade for?


Text mai vechi, upgradat. Mi-a luat 2 ore si jumatate de pachet de tigari ca sa imi dau seama ca oricat as incerca, textul asta nu va suna niciodata la fel de bine in romana ca in engleza, desi am o varianta relativ decenta si in ro pe care o voi mai explora.

It’s been like this forever. You always come out of the dark, with a demonic angel’s smile on your lips. You always find me crucified to the immutable waiting, desiring you, unable to evolve out of my frail shell of flesh, needing you to ease its pain, eternally attracted and afraid of you, of your power to break me and leave me again without any peace or promise of being free.

I am at your total discretion. You never ask permission or forgiveness, you just take what you want, when you want it. And now, the hour of us meeting, has once arrived again. Because I am what you want. I have been what you want for so many lives before and for all those about to come and you are looking for me in any universe you travel, in any shape you take, in any world you might venture, just as I wear the stigmata of expecting you from the beginning of time until the end of all things.

And here you are again, slithering from the farthest of hells, your look telling me I am the game you hunt, the game you feed on, the game you always come back to for more, as your restless soul is bound to mine in the same sick way that mine is bound to yours, both cursed to travel endlessly, just to meet for split seconds to fulfill our immortal fate.

I see your hand reaching to my face, your fingers stroking my lips. Under your heavy, deep dark gaze, I find myself powerless, losing myself in the hallucinating beatings of my own heart. You always take me by surprise. No matter that I’m yours, no matter we’ve done this for a billion years, it’s always like the first encounter, over and over again and it’s never the same twice. And the rush, the crush, the fire that builds up in me every
time, the psychotic fever you give me it’s the only thing keeping me going through life and death.

And now, as you lean towards me, I feel my stomach ache, ‘cause you’re sweeter than sin and more powerful than the devil himself. I feel my blood burning like hellish horses running wild. A demented butterfly beats its wings inside my loins and I feel my pressure rising, deafening me. I
watch you from outside myself getting closer, fast yet motionless, aggressive yet peaceful, and your final step is a cocktail of our breaths conjoined
forever. It’s all like a dream, like a drug, the only true emotion worth feeling, my only pleasure, my only masochistic pain. It’s more than sexual,
this feeling you pressure in me, you’re a meteor shreding my atmosphere, you’re my flight above skies, you’re my fall beyond the edge of the world.

I feel your arms around me, pushing my back against the wall behind, until the three of us become the one and only breathless entity. My feet tremble, my lungs choke, I’m out of air, out of sight, out of words. And as your scent inflicts my mind, I feel the magma of my desire shivering my
body, tearing apart my organs, rupturing my skin, melting my core and leaking through my fingertips.

Your glare penetrates my emasculated orbits, rapes as a lightning storm the mush which used to be my brain , invades my nerves in paralyzing screams, biopsying that fragile spot which connects my head to my spinal cord, torching it into pure fire. The electricity you ignite in me cracks my bones and with my last pieces of reason, I know it was worth the waiting, the longing and the abyss left by your absence over the millennia, ‘cause this is what we live for and this is why we are meant to dance to each other in our eternal quest for resurrection. I feel your lips over mine, in a kiss as an irrevocable, inescapable possession and finally our souls meet, while time stops to regain its breath again.

An old world ends and a new one begins and we are alone here, at the crossroads of destruction and creation, the wall behind my back sustaining my overloaded, decomposed body and I feel your hand grabbing the back of my neck, with a violence only you are capable of, tender and feral,
as your kiss deepens into my spirit and the anticipation of your breaking into me becomes unbearable.

Your teasing fingers are like burning ice on my chilled skin, and there is nowhere for me to run, to hide from you, to escape your devouring hunger. My touch makes you shiver and this is all I have to know. You are too one giant heartbeat, one single pumping blood cell, a life-full
accessory of my love. Our souls bite, tear and squeeze the mortal carcass of one another, as I feel you crushing down your chest, hoping that I will fill the void inside you, the hollow that stands in front of me, with your dreams waiting to be exorcised.

I am a tattoo on that wall. You are a tattoo on me.

And when this tango ends, when it’s all over, you slowly take my hand and press it against your cheek. I feel your tears like burning candle drops. They leave me with scars and with a sorrow so great, so damaging, only eternity, in its kindness, will heal, ‘cause we have to part now and we have to live and we have to die a thousand ways, a thousand times, to pass a thousand re-births, until we meet again. And we will meet again, my love, I promise.

We are the bird of the same wings; we are the alpha and the omega, the truth and the light, the darkness and the agony, the siamese
siblings of the same sleepwalking soul. How can we be without if we only exist for being within eachother?

I’m trying to quit.

I got hooked on you and I didn’t want to give you up just yet. But I think now it’s time to separate our paths, at least for a while.

Oh Hell, you made me feel special. I thought you were that single chemical left for me to be complete. I thought I was that single bloodstream left for you to be brought to life. But you’re just a drug. You give away yourself to anybody who asks for you. You made me as special as any junkie is.

You were supposed to make me happy and you did, but for such a brief time. Now you’re just making me ill. The more I want you, the less you give me. I take one step forward and you’re taking a step back. You never met me half way, but left me here alone, stranded to the scaffold, crucified on your stupid promise of a larger-than-life journay.

You know they say quitting drugs is just a matter of will, strength and patience. Oh, but they haven’t met you, darlin’…

For me, quitting you is just a matter of survival. Will I get through the day without you?

I get up at sunrise with one only thought: “wish you were here”. But you’re not. I’ve thrown away the last dose two days ago. So I brush this stranger’s teeth, not recognizing her in the mirror, thinking that I could kill anybody for you to come back in my system. Then I get my existence the hell out of the house, wishing to be rammed to death by the only drunk motherfucker stupid enough to drive this early in the morning. And then I get to work.

I can’t breathe. I can’t talk. I’m out of focus. My heart pumps like this hysterical kick boxer who OD’s daily from too many steroids. My blood cells pop like hot corn. My brain dreams backwards in slow-motion. I sweat adrenaline and feel like I’ll drop dead in my own vomit in the next few
seconds. I hate myself and I hate you for leaving me like this. Here. Alone. Unsatisfied.

So I fill up my day with many, oh, so many pointless, peculiar, ludicrous tasks, just to take my mind off of you. I want you! I want you, my lymph screams in pain and I want to crawl up the walls and bite the ceiling. But then I remember I have to quit, so I manage to stay sober till lunch.

Lunch, on the other hand, is a bridge too long to cross and still remain half-sane. When I chew my food mechanically (‘cause I can’t feel its taste anymore), my mind deflects my body for better worlds. It usually rides wild horses in the Grand Canyon. But for two days now, it takes off erratically, just to find itself splashed onto your image and taste, like a fly on the windshield of a speeding car. You know that ugly spots on windshields? Blood, intestines and broken wings? Yeah, that’s me thinking of you.

After lunch it gets better. I only think about you a thousand times, hands shaking, head aching, lungs choking.

I now skip dinner. I’d rather drink myself next to a coma, just to get a vague sensation of some sleep happening. In your absence, sleep became a luxury I can’t afford. I wet the sheets, I toss and turn and scream. I masturbate (no point in that though, you infected my blood with your sweetness that hard, the stupid son of a bitch doesn’t reach those far corners of my body anymore). I dream about you and it pisses me off so bad, I get up and drink again. Pale illusion compared to you.

I’m crushed under the sickening idea that it is healthier for me not to feed myself from you any longer.

I know I have to quit

Thinking of you

Desiring you

Searching for you in the darkest of corners, in the latest of hours.

But I’m a junkie. I’ll always need you. And you’re a drug. You’ll always exist only because I want you. And I will want you back someday, so we will be trapped in this tango of death forever.

But for now, my crystal-meth Ken, my Barbie just wants to go to sleep for a while, in her glass coffin where you found her for the first time.

She is at a kiss distance away from awakening though, and I think  that she (stupid as any woman) will be still waiting for you to crush her one more time against your power of addiction…

It all began with a heartbeat.

The Universe’s first one, when it created itself from nothing, as a token of appreciation to God’s good will and sense of humor. Life’s first heartbeat, in the mother’s womb. The first kiss. The first I love you. The first fuck, the first ride in the roller-coaster, the first fist in the face, the last words of a dying man to his loved ones.

My journey with you started a while ago, when my mind thought you as desirable, put the system into work and my heart in fibrillation. “You wannna try?” “Oh, yes, I want to feel how it’s like to be awake standing on the thin line between whatever and life. One line. A quick line, a short line. I’m not a junky. One sniff will not change me forever”.

Quote: “If you dance with the devil, the devil don’t change. The devil changes you”. (Max California)

You made the word “change” become a symphony from hell. I pledged myself to you that night. Brilliantly cut, but still impure, made of synchronies and gaps, by substances unknown to man, by the lives you took before, by the clarity of your tangled spirit. I let you take me. I just went along. Beautiful devil, you danced me straight into oblivion…

And I loved it! No inhibitions, no pain, no night terrors, no thoughts, no words, wired to life as vampires are wired to death. Strip under the moonlight, dance to my last breath, fuck like a god, feel like a giant sponge sucking life. When the world was sleeping, I was taking a line. And sky exploded in million colors.

The truth is, substance is abusing people, not the other way around. By not having you, and not being able to take you in me, by being scarce and refusing yourself to me, that’s when it truly hurts. That’s when I want you more, that’s when I would do anything for another dose of you.

My body is decaying.

I sniff in dirty corners, looking for you, I feel my piss down in my pants, I lurk the night, the nightmares and the streets, I’d cheat for you, I’d kill for you, I’d prostitute myself to you, I’d slit my veins wide open and take a dive in you. Just for you to give me another fix, another crush, another orgasm.

I walk this endless roads, blood screaming, brain swelling, soul numbing. I am a ghost that hunts your beauty, I am a beggar of your mercy, I am a slave to what may come.

We feed on the first kiss. The first I love you. The first fuck, the first ride in the roller-coaster, the first fist in the face, the last words of a dying man to his loved ones. We thrive to create ourselves from nothing. We live just for those instances in time when we do want to feel we have a heart.

I want you more. Not ready to give up or leave this wicked house of pain, or fall my life asleep. . . I need to bleed my nose again.

And feel another heartbeat.

I’m searching my veins with one hand, your passion in my mouth, while with the other I masturbate imagining you flooding me. I am every God damn junkie’s femme fatale.

My skin shivers in retrospection, in imagination and in hell. My fingertips smother my thirsty lips. I wake up in convulsions, barely breathing. Huge jaws bite my spine, inhuman claws reap my ovaries. I am a spasm of desire. My body wants you as it never wanted before nor water, or air, or peace. I’m hungry.

I tried to quit. Honest to God, I tried. It was supposed to be easy ‘cause it all began to seem a little offbeat at some point. Obsolete and futile. My Melissa P was bored to death to Franz, and my Humbert Humbert was sick and tired of Rebecca. I went all the way down to system failure.  Baise-moi was just a pretext. Bitter Moon was just Lolita with more skills.

So I quit. Got clean. Thrown away the needles and the tourniquet. Miss little sunshine was back in town.

But it just doesn’t go away. The pain, the wanting, the lip-biting, the masturbating, the fire in the joints, the cracks beneath the brain, the torture of the skin, the self inflicted bruises, they never disappear and everything’s in vain.

I tried to replace the emptiness with soft stuff, normal stuff and average up-the-vein-circling-the-drain substitutes. They didn’t work either. I was lost. My numbness jumped me straight in a coma.

And then, you happened to me. Your sparkles, diamonds of pain. Your color, white as the darkest angel. Your smell, Eve stripped and chained to the Life Tree. Your taste, bitter cherries with a scent of animal violence. Your perfectly engineered design to please and make dreams come true.

Your gift of sneaking into my plasma, playing hide and seek in my synapses, licking my neurons, electrifying my eyeballs, pushing my heart above and beyond.

And I was hooked again.

I am made of sequences of time and space. No yesterday and no tomorrow, but “last time I choke to death inhaling you” or “last time I felt the world spinning like a pill under my tongue”.

I know you don’t want me. You don’t even need me. You’re just sitting there on the shelf, waiting for me, watching me kneel and summon your powers. I am a vessel to you, a plastic puppet who will do just about anything for an overdose of lust.  I feel you laugh at me, at my desperation, at
my end.

I know how bad you can hurt me. And how bad I can hurt myself. But I don’t care. I need my dose. It’s been too long and now I feel my jaws crack and tears bursting from my chest just looking at you. Do you want me to take the first step? I’ll lick every inch of the wrapping that hides your core, but I will get to you.

I live my life in passing moments between rehab and reincarnation.

I will quit you too soon, though. I’ll find a way. If I cannot live with the pain of wanting you and then falling back into you, again and again and having you as I had you before, and then forgetting about you, If I can’t live the rush and die from it, then why live at all?

My crystal-meth Ken, you woke my Barbie to the ceiling. Just please, don’t disappear before I get to taste one more time the heaven that  you bring to mortals.