I'm and I'm not

 I'm what I'm

But if what I'm is something I'm bound to be

Then perhaps I'm not

And this I is something

Appearing so averagely stable

That it deceives me into 'Iing' myself

When I'm not, I don't miss me

And when I'm, it is without being

Just seeing

Hoping I finally rejoice

On this infinitesimally small space of sight

Chilly

Tried adding all ingredients one could find

But there was nothing like chilly

The mix tasted sweet and sour

Admittedly, it was rare, but never such delicacy

Like that miraculous spice that sprouts only by the Rhine

Tried to conceal that chilly taste memory

Giving in to an adrenalin shot

But it didn't even remotely fade

Calculations, comparisons, endless analysis, and hysteria

Causing to compulsively pull those threads

The semi-true lines written to resonate

With the madness of the border-lines from before

So for that mix, I composed a goodbye mémoire

Depicting the charm of an ancient muddy story

Then ingested herbs to extract tears and cry 

For the long-gone beauty of the corpse lying over me 

The torture inflicted was real

Like were real the pages of that putrified idolatry

Still, their source was confusingly tainted 

From my first second of sobriety, I waited

And eternally, I will

For what was lost during my utmost insanity

The green kryptonite that she never let me hide

Greatest weakness of Lily

Wasted pathologically freely

And now she cries shrilly, silly

Even when that weakened sun was shinning

Mildly warming up a snow mountain, so hilly

 All the time, I could profoundly feel it

Chilly, chilly, chilly... chilly.

Ghost II

 It happens at every instant 

The repetitive instantiation 

Of this almost stable structure

Although I inherit this illusion of continuity

It was not really me who started this sentence

As it won't be the one finishing it

I'm constantly slipping 

Through infinite spaces

And I can not differentiate me

Perhaps a mathematician could 

Find the derivatives that approximate me

  Is this the closest I can get to being defined?

Or am I inverting the question?

What if I just need to be integrated

Still by a mathematician

To fill this incalculable vacuum?

Or in Jungian style

Shedding light on the shadows

That foment these futile questions?

I do not know

None of these layers of me did

And no layer in the future will

Essence

Strange to see it now, without those glasses

From a sober perspective, a lost perfection

Yet, it is remarkable that

Though everything changed

It somehow remains the same

It makes me wonder

There is something about it

That inspires me to disassemble it 

Into the tiniest pieces

To put it together again, mindfully analytically

I wish to deconstruct it and shape it like myself

But I also want to take it as it is and wear it like a costume

I'm tempted to perturb it

To push the boundaries of its invariances

The  robustness of its complexity 

My compulsion to unravel its true source

I just really need to discover which pattern is responsible

For my mental model kidnapping

The severe necessity to understand

Till how far can I stretch its composition 

How many parts can I remove until its kernel disappears

Yes, there's something about it that is unique

Which I tried to reproduce 

Using my collection of unrelated stolen items

But couldn't get even close

Tried to describe it exhaustively, repetitively

And still could not portray more 

Than a remote resemblance of its essence

Middle

Flying around for miles, putting that same old label on obsessions and compulsions, like pointing fingers.

Going forwards, trying to skip time, crashing over an unconscious desire that lingers.

Dragging your body backward, forcing yourself into what you don't want until you do.

Congratulations Dr. Freud, tried to treat your heroin-addicted patient with cocaine and got him addicted to the two.

And now, what's left is just a Sylvia style. But don't worry, I ain't turning the gas on in the kitchen, not anymore.

I was invited to ride a flying balloon full of love and was carried in by a hundred loving arms. They gave me marshmallows requesting nothing back.

I asked: why are you so kind? And they told me: 'put this screen away! what are you looking for?'

I went like: oh, there's this place I gotta go. I just gotta get back there!

But why kitty catty? Can't you just find it here?

Oh no, oh no, I searched around. I went left and right, up and down. I checked all directions and corners. I could not find it anywhere else...

Wait a minute... I'm such a liar! I tell these self-deluded stories so many times that I believe them myself.

I did, in fact, find a place beyond this one, but it was so unreal...

So I doubted it and set it on fire until it disappeared. Then ya, I'm pretty sure there's nowhere else now.

I have a pocket full of words that can't form any truly new sentence.

Had this dream in which I tried to leave a note for myself... jezzz... that's how I know now I didn't fully have my right mind on guide when I did all that shit.

And what's really weird is that I can see two different colors, one through each of my eyes. So now I can perceive the world in two versions simultaneously, and that freaks me out.

Tonight, I wonder which term will be the largest when I finally finish my dream words-cloud.

To be honest, this whole thing is ridiculous, I've watched that movie before. And God, I could swear... I'd have bet anything that it was dead. I really didn't think about it at all anymore.

But oh, I no longer consider it a curse. Maktub. It was written. I wrote it formally, literally, entirely. There's always something new to write, and yet, I keep just repeating myself. "even though the meaning is different every time."

I'm throwing away, right now, everything I thought I knew. I'm ready to believe.

Though, I still remember the other side every day. Today I dreamed there was a portal in my room, and an SS soldier gave me his hand. I touched him and didn't know what to do but cry.

He said: 'why are you doing this? Come back here. You did it all on purpose!' I screamed: but soldier, soldier, you're no soldier if you hide in the trench all the time! I swear I didn't do a thing! And this time, not even my sister...

It was not until you scared me, and only then, did she come out. It was just a night caller, a "nightcrawler". But it was you who let these demons grow in your mind, and then they grew in mine.

And the more you hid in your trench, the more I sang songs in ugly languages. And it is too late now. But ya, it is never too late unless it is.

How deep is all that inside me? I wish I were in a Swedish dataset of twins separated at birth. Then maybe I'd know a bit better what I really can't get rid of.

My therapist said I should take the risk. I asked: would you? And she nodded negatively. What the fuck am I supposed to do with all this?

All in all, this is a search for more excuses. To justify this constant fire burning inside.

I had to give it a name and a face. I always have to give it a color. To pretend to myself it is not just my own ghost.

Someone inquired me: why listening to the same song thirty times on the same day?

So I rationalized: well, I wanna make sure I get all the words and know all the notes. But ya, the truth is I never let anything go.

The cow type. Gotta eat it, puke, eat, eternally. Only this way can I feel like something matters.

Ain't nothing in between unexistence and totality!

Wait! Here I go again. This is my old mindset... from that cheesy soap opera.

My bitter realization that my heart was divided made me accept I don't really have a heart. It is more like a box of toys, full of these ink types. And ya, no such thing as balance.

Though I guess it is true, one side will always win. At least one side in each hour of the day. Or one in each dream.

And fuck this madness! Because inside me, there's never space for me. Just an eternal war among savages and soldiers. These recurrent themes keep coming back fractally. I said it already, and I'll say it again, it is consciousness theft!

Time after time, under torture, I confess crimes I never committed. Trying to process some undue guilt, I heat up my deeds, and I distort them. So, listen to me: no more!

Therefore, now, crossing this abys on a rope, every time I'm falling left, I'll look right, and as the right pulls me in, I'll look left.

Perhaps that's the only way to stay in the middle. Because if I look at any of these sides for too long, I'll be consumed into ashes.

And this time, I refuse to resist by simply playing. I shan't play anything, I'm not that person anymore.

I was sucked into a gigantic tornado, and it really changed me. This is all true. This is all real.

The part of me that is here right now is truly here, and that part that is missing is genuinely far away.

De novo

It goes round and round

Dies, rottens, disappears

But then reborns

Emerging from ghostly shadows

Mystical morphogenesis

From a tiny dried blood drop

At the bottom of a dark cave

It is a mental theft

A consciousness rape

And yet, an endless space

To be occupied

When only infinity can truly fit me

Whereas everywhere else

Is so tight and shallow

There is nowhere else to be

I don’t really wanna go anywhere

This is the untold side of the story

Dis-scrambled, a-poetic truth

I contemplate this esoteric composition

An infatuation, a stressor, a trigger

Control shortening meager

Where is it?

Where is it?
I walked, walked, walked. Jumped and looked around, squatted, and inspected the floor. Leafed through a book, between the pages, between the lines, among hypothetical anagrams.
I climbed a tree and used a cheap binoculars, but still, I could not find it.

Where is it?
I yelled in the wind and underwater a bunch of mumbled words that did not propagate much far. I made a drawing with a sign saying ‘wanted’ and glued it on a tree of a deserted forest. I saw a butterfly and I tried to ask about its whereabouts, but then I realized I could not describe it.

Where is it?
I flew to the other side of the world like in a treasure hunt. I hired a detective for whom I had to tell multiple embarrassing secrets. I took the fruits from my fridge and cut them open to check inside, but all I could find were seeds.

Where is it?
I joined a church, a cult, a pyramid scheme, and then a climate change supporting group, but it was also not there. I went shopping and bought everything I could pay for, then I tried to assemble every item together to try to form it, but it did not emerge.

Where is it?
I had a tea and went to bed to seek it in my dreams. I visited a fortuneteller wondering if it was in my future and she gave me hope to talk to a statistician. I slashed open my chest with a sharp knife to verify if it was inside, but unfortunately, my chest was empty.