Poisoned flower

Simple words, decorated with fake emotions and shaped into different scenes, sneaking into my veins, giving me a sensation that I was missing, a sensation of love, protection, joy and freedom, these are the little things I thought I found, or this is what they wanted me to believe. In a moment of weakness I thought their eyes spoke the truth and I gave them the left faith in me but once again … a poisoned flower can never be touched twice.


I’m Fine

The taxi’s backseats were very comfortable and cozy; I could spend the whole day sitting on them without complaining, along with the chilly breeze gently kissing my face and my eyes analyzing the view of the skyscrapers. I dramatically stared at people, walking, running, talking and doing their daily routines.

Why do humans look so innocent from far but as soon as you get closer to them they turn to something else; carrying their bags and heading to different destinations and wearing different expressions, but still convincing themselves the same lie … I’m fine.

I wonder what do they carry in those bags,

pens, important papers, cell phones, make up probably, glasses or wallets.

Superficial point of view, isn’t it?

I would say these bags carry much more than this;

dairies and memories, broken hearts, jars of tears, bottles of poison, inoculation of hope, dust of burnt love and an identity of a loner.

More thorough now!

Just taking a closer look at their faces, the sadness swallowing every inch of it, heavy dark circles from sleepless nights, at work, studying, reading books or just … crying. I know this too well, staying up all night wandering between then and now, lost somewhere around the long distance in between; one foot here and the other there, I tried to run away from my past to the station of present, hoping I could catch the only train heading to the future where everything will be alright and where all the deadly worries fade away! But too bad the odds weren’t on my favor this time either.

Everyone was heading to utopia too, everyone wanted to get rid of their worries and find peace, and we all believe that future can be our utopia, running away from our mistakes, lies and fears to hide in the future;

a place that does exist only in our heads. Instead of fighting our demons, we choose to conceal behind an invisible wall of delusional perfection.


Letters On leaves 나뭇잎에 편지

The whistles of the wind gusting through the street, notifying the agog night owls that a blustery winter is coming their way, to withdraw their disappointments and bewilderments, and to deliver the remedy they were starving for; the trees are finally letting go of their old leaves and allowing new ones to sprout, the session is here to take the leafs that once held much pain and beauty, if only my worries can fade away like these falling leaves, with the splash of charm and the promise of never coming back… …despairingly staring from the window at a flock of birds heading south, searching for a place warmer for them to survive, I took a sip of my dark coffee, to help me stay up through this endless night, I put the cup back on the table and my eyes met the box of the old unread letters on the nightstand, I paused for a moment, smiled and grabbed the heavy old box, as I opened it the smell of the old memories hit me hard on my face, making my eyes sweat and my outmoded wounds bleed! While the lullaby of the neglected recalls playing in the background … … The smell of the old memories and the smell the absenters brought back the heartache, the feeling of disappointment, anger, sorrow and gloom!!! I gently took the first letter in my hand, a letter that is addressed to me, from them… the ones who stole my soul, burnt my innocence and murdered my heart, the dear ones who left my bleeding body hanging on the bridge of loneliness, becoming a nourishment for the crows of depression; I still remember the day I was left alone on that abandoned road, the fingerprints of the cold raindrops still burn my skin every single night, leaving traces of shame to the sun rise, can’t be washed and can’t be recovered, like an ugly tattoo stuck on me for a lifetime! … … Each letter has a story and each story has a wound; I bet they struggled to make these letters look as honest as their lies but we all know that lying always leads to a dead end, where you can’t look back and you can’t escape, that moment when the truth locks you in the hell and cell; where to go, my friend?!


The big decisions start with the little decisions.

If you’ve ever doubted yourself, walk deep into any forest.

Notice how the tress still stand even though they are given no recognition.

Walk along any stream. The water still flows, though No one stops to praise it.

Watch the stars late at night; they shine without acknowledgment. Humans are just the same.

We are made out of the elements as these beautiful wonders.

Always remember your beauty and self worth