Words

give me a world to fill
I want to spread my heart on the sheet of paper
and melt together with letters

inkheart-born
broken raven flying over a non-existent forest
transparent fox trying to fit into reality

 

Sometimes I think my words, the words I talk with and the words I try to express my emotions, are disappearing in the mist, eaten by the nothingness, and people just pass them by, not even hearing them. The words, that bloom from rotten roots, to feed on decay and burst with feral wilderness. Wild and alien, like stalk of grass that grew between the street arteries.

Sometimes I think they are the only things that understand me, those words.

These little letters that allow me to drink their blood and form the new reality from it.

I want to believe I have place in this world. But probably, I should be swallowed by a book and be kept there, pressed between sheets, slowly drowning in the story.