Multidimensional box of no shape

I remember people asking me
Who are in my home
And my cheap joke
Arrogant answers
Pushed them away
Cats, dogs, spiders, cockroaches
Those aren’t appropriate
I remember people asking me
What did I smoke
Whilst talking about our existence
Home doesn’t exist
Neither we do
Nothing matters
Elements to elements
Atoms to atoms
Molecules to molecules
We all are same
Shaped and adjusted well
In the box we don’t fit in
Leaving the unnecessary ideas
And our point of views behind
Home doesn’t exist
Our habits do
May habits doesn’t exist too
Some molecular magnetic field
We create to survive
It sucks us up
The left over dusts
Human dead skins
My ghosts from my past
Will take care of my sins

Who are in my home…
I am home.


Fragile things

With people
Doubtful about my actions
Whether I was stoned or not
I don’t smoke up
That’s the truth
But it’s okay
I have learned
That marijuana helps us
To explore our brains more
I can do that without any

None will understand it
The theory of existence
It is here
Somewhere they cannot access
I was happy
High on good times
Good people
Talking about shit we will bury
In moments
May never come

I wonder what will I do
If I was stoned
But I guess I know that already
Found the truth about unreal reality
Where we live
It’s too narrow
My head might expload
Stuck in a fragile body
As he says
I cannot name
I spill words
All over the existence of this moment
Will never exist
I am a fragile woman.


My last name
Doesn’t exist
But in words
To find my root
Which doesn’t exist anymore anyway
But in moments
To find where I started
How I started
To measure the time
Time doesn’t exist too

A narcissist birthday poem

I wanted to write something
With my tired body
Closing eyes
And sleep head
Before the number changes
I couldn’t wait for it
I never did anyway
To ding the clock
Ring the bell
Its just too beautiful without me
Succumbed in new cold
Gray mists of midnight
Lonely street lights
Giving false hope to shivering street dogs
Midnight doesn’t wait for anyone
It comes and goes
Away from my cosy blanket
Freshly moved
From cupboard to my bed
I don’t fight too hard
To stay awake
Numbers will keep changing
It always do
Til we run out of it
But sleep is ultimate
In a way or another
I am closer to midnight.

-24, I did write something.

About a girl

My legs aren’t moving
The darkness under my blanket
Seems heaven
Sweating in the sun
I don’t want to let it’s light in
Not even a cigarette
In between my lips can undo
The fear

My legs aren’t moving
But the clock does
With it’s three legs
One smaller
Smaller enough to change
To bend
To destroy once morality
I have to hide it all
My shaky legs
Under my branded trousers
My racing heart
Inside a jacket
Made of skin
Of a dead species
And My words
With dead truth
I am scared of lies
I need to put on
To stay alive
Why do I need to?

The defenders

There I was
With the rusty iron fire escape
At my tiny New York City
In early morning cold
Having a smoke
Shivering half in cold
Half excitement

I have always watched it
In movies,
Through the rectangular screen
Of my cheap laptop
My kind of Netflix and chill
I have been in love with it
The rusty metal bars of freedom
Of hells kitchen
I have been dreaming about it
Full of kittens
I will save them all

Back home
Where there are no escape
Padlocks and bitter emotions
Buttered my vegan life
And sauteing
It tastes good
Back home
Where my little kitten died
I have searched for blood
Red as the rusty balcony
Cold as that morning
It straight went to a garbage dispenser
Things we do not need anymore
Like deadbodies, honest souls
Lost hope
Nothing left but a smell
Forcing me to close it
The door of hells kitchen
My kitten must be safe
Rotting peacefully
Somewhere down there
Or here

10 percent and draining

I think I am getting old too
Like he said he was
I can see it in my pace
No rush to go home
Watching an old guy
Flying a miniature monument
Next to the real one
I have been there before
With my friends
Young souls
We were too late
To find out an entrance
Or exit
Maybe late is a metaphor
For now
To destroy it
Rusty bones
Lack of irons
I am too old to alter that
Maybe I should settle
Building a monument of dreams
Or at least like one of those
With Replicated reality
Till the batteries are dead


What’s the news
Of a newspaper man
Getting up early morning
Running around with a bicycle
Carrying junk
Stories from yesterday
Some buried truth
Some made up lies
Five bucks for dead trees
What’s the news
Of a news paper man
They keep changing
From older rounder
To younger leaner
The Rusty bicycle stays
The same
From yesterday
The newspaper man
Must have a story
At our morning cuppa
Late evening road side snacks
On cupboard racks
Sometimes news are too old
Sells on weight machine
The weight machine must have a story too

Fist full of hope

I want to earn a loads of money
Cars and choppers around me
And people bowing
Stopping cars
Bending laws
I feel poor
Sustainability is not enough
When I am in a crowdy compartment
Of a local train
Full of sick people
Weak and old
Trying hard to get up
Get down
Missing destinations
Holding their shaky knees
Trying too hard to hold themselves
From falling apart
Stuck in trains

I wish I could stop the train
Run it backwards
I wish I had a lot of money
So I could escape the train
Of despair

Train goes both ways

Is it okay to love snakes
And the smell of carbolic acid
Keeping reptiles away
The left side of road
Was drenched with the aroma
Of phenol
I have heard people from Africa
Painted their walls
I have loved Africa too
Like the other side of the street

The other side of the street was occupied
By a dapper dude
Foreign for the local place
I am foreign for it too
Looking at each other
Unknown he was I have seen it all
Fashion is old for me
I am into antifashion
Concealed under my swanky t-shirt
And Parisian hair
I was enjoying the smell
Of my favorite carbon bond
-I had to catch the train