The 16th of July

Monday at 23:04 |  Crapholder

That constant feeling of homesickness.
Without knowing where home is.
Too many different people and places.


I'm a bit sad.
But only slightly.

Because the happier you get, the sadder your dreams become.

I've been there already.
It's just ... Too calm.

Few more steps and it will all be okay.

I'm tired of Paris and I hate living alone.


Those who destroy us

The dark thoughts we hide in the middle of the night. The dreams we keep suppressing in the mornings, sweet bliss of warmth followed by hollowness in our hearts. Be right back. Those who don't exist anymore. Those whose existence doesn't intertwine with ours anymore. Those who torment us. The ghosts in our minds. Those who never even existed.
I buried too many souls.

And you think, simulation complete.
And yet, my mind keeps inventing. It's not right.

I barely remember your face.
You're getting old now.
Old and bitter and not loved.
And I feel sorry for you.

But mostly I feel sorry for myself, because it's not you I scream for, it's the everlasting idea of you.
Idea of myself at that time.
Carefree and on my first steps towards success.
The conqueror. The world eater. Confident and beautiful. Young.

I don't cry for you.

I cry for myself.
For ghosts are in me.
And you are just a shell.
A shell of my own past self.

And I'll be fine.


Something happened.
Someone told the truth.


Through walls of zeros, ones, and crowns

I believe it happened when he's first spoken that language with disgust.

God, how ugly and pathetic.

Hard to keep your reason when the last pieces of your mind shatter in front of your eyes.

You both are.

When drums beat fast, and hard, and slow.

Cruel. So cruel.


A un passant

Remember them, as they are scars on your heart.
Keep reciting their names.

What a Summer. It's a four-year loop.
Could haves and would haves.
Never any should haves.

Can't call myself a fool for I knew what would happen from the very beginning.
Too oblivious, too obvious.
All that will be left is the minimal.

You say so little and yet you say so much.
Gasping for your secrets and you spilled them all.
You would have been perfect. So perfect. So fucking perfect.
And you would care. You would love. You would give your everything.
And I'd destroy you.

… but I was not crying for you then, I am not crying for you now.
I'm crying for my own wannabe.

Just another one in the line. You won't matter tomorrow. Ours paths will never cross again.

Sayonara, yet another ghost in my heart.

The 28th of May

28. may 2017 at 13:01 |  Crapholder
She'll bloom like a desert rose.

He once said: "This big step just got a metric fuck ton bigger."

... and days will never be the same.
Parallels. Universes merging.
I see several realities at once.

"... Until your face becomes nothing but a blur of pale ashes in my mind."

Weak, she drinks her sorrow away, away, away, until everything becomes red again.
She's a shipwreck, she can't help herself, she can only dream.

... The idea.
Not anymore.

A chapter. A reccuring character in her book of life.

All this time.
There's only been an illusion of a choice.

... And everything seems perfect but there is something wrong.
She can feel it in her bones.
It's as if there were voices inside her head again.
But there's no one there anymore.

it's. all. in. my. mind. goddammit.

Flick of a switch, sounds and colours.
Same and sane and same all over again.
She gets bored and bored and bored ...

It's just a waiting game now.

The 1st of November

1. november 2016 at 18:52 |  Crapholder
This will make you love again.

Breathing again.
Absolute and utter retardation.
Thoughts dissapearing.

Like a turn off switch for my brain.

Cold outside, warm inside.
Share your deepest, darkest secrets with me.

Think of England.

In all the possible realities and alternative universes, constants and variables.
No walls, only books.

... If I have to switch the lights off, I wanna switch them off with you.

The 6th of October

6. october 2016 at 22:20 |  Crapholder
... And one day I'll wear Burberry trench coats.

I missed Autumn. I really did.
I didn't even know that I missed until I've felt it. Here, in this wicked, wratched and exceedingly revolting city that I call home now. The days are still sunny, playing magic through colourful leaves. Evenings are cold and cozy under a dim candle light and a cup of tea. Reading hidden under the blanket becomes my favourite way to spend evenings.

Paris, you remind me of Prague.
Where I learnt to be stronger than I though I could be.

But you also remind me of London.
Your twin sister, parner in crime and your worst enemy. You've grown up together, Londinium and Lutèce, you've shared so much of the history together. Different in so many ways, but both so marvelously brilliant.
It's a strategic place.

But most of all, Paris, I feel like I've known you forever. As soon as I stepped out of the train that brought me from a sunny countryside of Provence, I knew that I'll never leave.

... It takes one breath to fall in love.

Paris, I love you. I love your old churches, your cold-hearted skyscrapes and your piss-stinking tube. I love the people, ignorant selfish city rats who know they better mind their own business. I love the life you gave me, the thoughts you freed, the paths you've shown me.

I've built a fort and overcame my losses once again.

Autumn, my dear Autumn that I haven't seen in seven long years ...

Please stay beautiful.