Un matin de septembre, le Canada m’est apparu comme la destination de mon voyage. Bill, mon patron, m’a encouragé à prendre « le temps qu’il faudrait ». Mes collègues de bureau sont venus me serrer la main en silence.
Read MoreOne September morning, it occurred to me that Canada was the place where I really wanted to go. My boss Bill told me to take “as much time off as needed”. One by one, my colleagues came to say a silent good-bye.
Read MoreMy dreams seep into my pillow
Dissolving
As the alarm cackles and sways
Nibbling my ear
That little drop of dew,
swooping down from the sky,
and coming towards you,
like a tear from up high
The dark sky covers everything,
It is the past and the future,
Everything is black except the stars that float in the sky like a song that has not been sung.
The tongue of it swooping in
light blotted out
stained by the spreading whoosh
of an intertwined path
looming over
Hovering above you
present and threatening
of a nature slithering
towards time itself
Breathing hard
and the monsters surrounding me
Scream for help
but the pain is silencing me
Thump Thump Thump
is the sound of my heart beating
He breathed without a reason to
A sky with just a single star
He turned, and looked right back at you
To hear that music from afar
What does a broken heart look like?
Is it an ugly, only-coloured gash in the vital organ?
Is it a feverish swelling of the skin enveloping it?
Read MoreOn this earth so cruel,
With time I shall duel
For my life is slipping away
little by little every day
Read MoreOn days in December,
I often look at the Christmas tree,
It is so snowy,
Dearest Judith,
I know you may not read this letter for fear that I am writing to shower you with bitter accusations. I assure you that I simply could not hold a grudge against you for much longer, as justified as my anger may be.
And I don’t mean a dimness where you press your nose to the page and squint a little. I mean pitch black. It’s funny how when you switch on the light you have to blink a few times and wait for the spots of colour to fade.
Read MoreDef: Sleepwalking is characterised by a series of complex events, walking being the most common among them.
I discovered I was a sleepwalker when I was six years old. I stumbled to the kitchen and started scrubbing the table frantically. I imagine I felt guilty for never cleaning up the strawberry milk I would perpetually spill during my waking hours
Oh saint truth,
Thief of fire,
Did you sin,
Or retire?
You have lied,
Oh my honest,
Truth has died,
False-faced forest
Stress is paralysing, contorted notion I cannot begin to understand. As my childhood and preadolescent years fade, this immense throbbing web of electricity quivers in my chest, always awake, humming it's far-from-pleasant tune.
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