December 2023

The world says pain brings the most beautiful poetry. 

I'm waiting for Mr. Weekend to clean up the mess of my week.

I'm waiting for them to take out the dust. To make my window see through again.

To blink back at the light that was there all the time but could not be seen anymore. 

To blink back at the light like I'm out of a big bag nightmare I thought would never end but did. 

Look at the darkness in us, all the fear which makes me blind from a different reality. 

The cyclone rages around us making those big distorted voices so loud. We can't see anything but pure darkness in terror. We start to believe that the sun above the clouds was a lie. That the only possible outcome is that we'll die. 

And at one point, the dirty muddy bloody hands covering our eyes vanish and the black and white objects which used to give us pleasure slowly retrieve their colors. 

La PrInCeSs Du CrEpUsCuLe