The Mascara 2.0

woman with green eyeshadow and red lipstick

puke: smeared pleasure, shaped after a stranger’s fingers, clogs pores and unnecessary feelings

please like me: heavy with anxiety, glues to skin, impossible to see through

heartache: crimson red, runny, causes shortage of breath, contains ingredients not approved by the EU

water-based: preschool fights, footsteps in mud, sharp wind to the bone and kitchen knife in your handbag

waterproof: undying, mortuary makeup, closed gates, a road to indifference

hypo-allergenic: clean, virginal, shivers when touched

yesterday: taste of spilled vodka, the person you hate, hands on your waist and stains on your pillow

gone: hair in the sink, overexposed photographs, morning growing like a plague beneath your eyelids

Hunting season

white and green flower on white surface

Have you thought of how many dead copies of you
exist in the minds of other people? how many wounded bruised
beaten raped left to die replicas
roam around the streets?

(you appear very suspicious)
my heart was poached 11 years ago,

I can still smell the gunpowder

(you’re in a building with 100 strangers)

we never leave anything untouched

so our hands have forgotten

the texture of grief.


woman wearing white dress on garden

In a garden of boredom

I’d like to be a weed

in a symbiosis with scissors

and other sharp objects

that may make me bow

constantly dying, always regrowing

unwanted but determined

flawlessly ugly and wrath invoking,

with roots that choke

anything around me.

Pick me, if you dare.