Pontus' Pearl

Thoughtless aristocrats masquerading as thieves
An unforgetful love camouflaging as hatred
The pending cloaked as their past
Inevitable betrayel hidden behind a trust
Unspoken words masked as honesty

Secrets in disguise

It's just a countdown

Can't see a future. It's as if every second, good or bad, is just leading up to me giving up.

A Glass of Wine

The smell of clay, a starry sky and his favourite bottle of Bordeaux.

He taps gently on the dusty glass, creating a slow and repetitive melody; a motion soothing the jitterings travelling in his bloodstream. Looking upwards causes him to chuckle momentarily, his head shaking in disbelief, though with a smile he finishes the remaining of the red wine. A comfortable woven blanket is spread out on the cool ground, and as the rain begins to fall, he puts aside his glass and lays down, curling up while clutching to his denim jacket.
Soon after; the wet dirt is covering most of him, leaving only part of his jacket visible aswell as his few belongings, but in the morning the ground appears to have repaired itself and he's finally gone.

Beautiful Filth

It's the first day of summer, may is nearly over and children run around on the abandoned concrete road, passing a leather ball to one and another, they seem to be blissfully unaware of the molden stench beneath the light green lawns. Daffodils can be seen spread all over the neighbourhood, peaking from all but one of the gardens, like a disease.

He walks past the yellow painted house, circling a sharp corner and stumbles on the uneven pavement.

His left foot falls into the hole of a missing cobblestone and he stops abruptly to regain his footing, though quickly he continues walking towards the old wooden entrance.

And as he arrives he observes how the white fence is protecting the house; hiding behind a beautiful bright garden, displaying flowers in colours more rich than anything he had ever hoped to imagine, and even scents oh so pleasant, almost spellbinds him to fade into another world, though fortunately he remembers his purpose and with a fast movement he opens the creaking gate.

A deep exhale calms his chest, his gaze becomes drawn to the crackled red painted front door, blurring all other surroundings. A moment passes, he blinks and sees his feet are now standing on the top step before the main entrance. The man is puzzled for a second but reaches down in his backpocket, and finds a small paperwrapped box, he takes a step back down, and places the fragile box on the top step, resting it against the door. Dimples show as his mouth spreads into a hopeful smile, while a rosy colour embraces his neatly shaven cheeks, and as he turns around, his pulse races as if his heart was attempting to escape his body.

An itch creeps down his left arm, just as he closes the gate behind him. Maybe this time.

· · · — — — · · ·

The tide had crept upon him,
All too soon, he felt.
Delicate sand had buried his puny ankles,
Bound him to the sea.
Frantically he turned his gaze; searching.
His eyes glistened with a desperate plea, for the sight of hers
And a distant silhouette,
Barely visible to the naked eye,
Disguising the woman's features,
Showed only a blurry layer of her fair polished skin,
Though she certainly approached his pathetic state,
To his regret, he knew now how, their eyes were never to be met.
Devastated with sorrow, he quietly offered his farewell

"Yes or no?"

10, 9, 8, 7...

"Yes or no?"

6, 5...

"Yes or no!?"

4, 3, 2...

"Decide!"

1...

Quasi Una Fantasia

Smooth and beautiful, resting safely in his palm, he clutches onto the small object,

knowing with it gone, a piece of him too will seize to exist.

Shimmering lights sirene their aching presence, leading one foot after the other towards the inevitable,

leaving only the trace of a promise behind.

Tabula Rasa

Lobotomy, heroin, sleeping pills...

Give me anything