Sunday, 27 February 2011

Papercut. Chapter 30

Basically, technically, realistically, I couldn’t sleep. No, it's not as if I had a panic attack, where your eyes are glued to your eyelids, actually you don't feel your body, just fear, as if you'd be staring into a sky, being one big eternal hole with no stars and a hanging moon, sharp with a ringing noise every time you turn around.

The unknown.

It's scary, like a running train, you can fall under it, the banality, as you'd get sliced and die in melancholy, people wondering about how many fags to buy.

Again. I kept shifting from side to side my mind completely blank, but my pulse going faster than it should. Then in a quick flash, like the epic last moment before death, everything showed in flashes soon enough to forget.

He was above me, he was kissing me and he wasn't, but I felt the weight of his tongue and desire being ready to be sold.

No task opened, because of the fear of incest.

He was like my brother, but I still kept my hand down, stroking someone over the skin fabric.

I'm alone, as I pull the covers under me, wrapping myself like in a cocoon, a condom, protection, from any jinx the fucker might have, but then he doesn't exist, a tension, a ticket to explore homosexuality and narcissism, letting the other half go cold. I press my hand against the cold area, down below, it's dead, making sure that nobody was there despite my intentions. I sat up, pulling the covers onto my chin, feeling the fabric against my lips. It felt rather rough and dry. I could bite it and feel the lemon juice sink into my cheeks, as I'd trace my body, exciting the corpus.

Who do I want to see there, beside me?

Do I have somebody particular in mind?



As a girl.

It felt like as if I need whoever for a nice long session. I press my palm against my face letting it dig in, as if to reach my thoughts, take them out and throw them away and blow, as he'd lit them, he he he. It's a she as well. I'm sure of it, I kiss the girl, I keep her light eyes in mind.

I could hear him, walk around in circles his docs pressing against my mind, his swears burning up my ears, his fingers pressing against the walls breaking out of mind, as if it were a cardboard box to jump out and suffocate. The split-personality kicks the walls causing a head ache as if he was really there, walking on my brain, kicking the inside of my skull, biting the flesh, as he goes in and out above, me pinned, changing, shifting.

I can't make out his words.

Pleasure, mixed with pain, as he holds my arms and gaze, he sucks my eyelashes, taking my wishes.

He wants to talk to me.

My ego wants to tell me something, a confession upon the brick is unneeded, but we both know it's there and not out of the mouths. How weak. He wants to shake the life into me or rather take it away with a quick brush turning into a tight grip, as he sticks it in to make me scream and bite the pillow, which I shall have to pull over my head.

He wants my death.

He wants to kill me.

He wants Kayleen.

Don’t you?

He nods, pinning me against the floor, his breathing steadying.



He is the kid. He’s not just a split-personality. Who is he? Walking on my mind, killing my cells, corrupting my sanity. My ego just snorts, as his grip loosens. He yanks my chin forward, as if looking at my hair roots. My other self pulls a steak, pressing his index finger against the light brown roots, tearing one hair in the process.

I yank it off, feeling a numb pain, as I switch sides.

“Light brown, Roman.” He pushes my chin away in disgust, running his tongue over the hair steak, as if too feel the colour. Then he throws it away and stands up, not giving me any signal to follow his actions.

He looks back at me as he walks off, disappearing into the whiteness, heading towards a nice nap.

Because he’ll return even if he never mentions it.



Roman is the closest he'll ever get to Kayleen.

Her face fills my head as I see her besides me, her flaming hair touching her face, light eyes gleaming, as I swallow.

I feel him, that emotion foreign to my own.

He tries to take over, making a step towards something called deal. He wants everything in exchange for me to feel the same, for her to break up with that guy who is sleeping over.

They could be doing absolutely anything.

Go check on them.

Then as if something controls me, takes over me, I push myself out of my bed, leaving the warm bed covers call me as my body hits the cold, compared to the warm bed, temperature. I realize that the question I asked before about my boxers returns to mind as I strode down the stairs only in boxers and socks. My eyes seem adjusted to the lack of light in the whole house, even Kayleen’s room as I take a quick look at the distance between the floor and door.

I expect to see somebody in the kitchen, expecting a rather epic conversation following, but I get a bigger surprise. No, there’s no Kayleen or her boyfriend, Matt, I believe. No making out couple, no taking off Matt’s glasses, no hand in Kayleen’s hair.

Just the cold, empty dark kitchen which could possibly be lit by a flick of a lighter, open fridge door or tap on the switch. I do none as I stare at the dark room, pouring myself some water in the dark, feeling it stroke my fingertips in an easing way, traveling down onto my ankle until I stop pouring. I drink it hungrily as if I didn’t have a single drop in the past few days, which is a lie. Like life itself. I run a hand through my hair seeing how boring can four am be. I put the glass down as I stare at the dark wall not reflecting anything from ceiling to floor mirror reflecting my ego, staring back at me, running a hand through his hair as identical like I would do it.

Then I turn around, dropping my glass, as it breaks into shards, I want to trace it upon my body, I want it to be needle which will pierce my skin. I want to end it, a permament thought, as I wonder what had caused Roman to end it all on that instant, in the sink and head off back to the calling lonely bed covers with no Kayleen, Lola or Alice and even Roman.


I stir in my bed actually wondering if I had fallen asleep before. No, nothing, nada. I exhale trying to easy my boiling on its own, with no exact thoughts, gray hoddie colour computer. Basically that’s about it like an annoying numb, silent buzz in there. I try to make the new bed the culprit due to my lack of sleep, but isn’t that what keeps me going the next day in the morning? Ha, for my other self yes, but not me. My thoughts are mixed like two papers crumbled together and thrown in a dust bin to be forgotten by everybody but not my mind as it scribbles on with a sharpie or a shard of glass, which made it's way onto my finger to split the skin.

He had been with me… so long.

I guess sometimes I felt lonely without that screaming, swearing soft voice in head like a conscience only a really corrupted and one with rather bad intentions, as it stroked the teenage me. I felt like finishing school, the shite is over, you're there. But then can life be called something with good intentions? We eat meat, produce whatever that causes global warming and we break hearts, even if it's just theories we create ourselves to make us die eternally.

Well at least I do and so does my other self. I find my sleepy mind slowly drift off to a banal and popular topic.

What was my first kiss like?

I smirk, feeling an annoyed echo coming from my ego, he’s awake and suddenly I feel safe.

How did it feel like?

I shut my eyes trying to recall it.


I felt like a young man back then, after all, I of all people tasted what the guys in school bragged about as much as girls did. It felt exciting a new unknown taste upon the tongue playing in my mouth for quite a while afterwards soon disappearing away into the now faded away memory, taste and feel. The girl’s name was Molly. She had curly red hair, not scarlet, like Kayleen’s dyed but like orange peels, that day she straightened her short bangs, applied make-up for the first time, it was fixed, but it still had some flaws. I liked her, but nothing more and I screwed the rule of sharing the first kiss with somebody special, but then anyone seemed special enough until a certain blonde drenches your pain with tomato juice.

I could barely recall her now, all I remember how inexperienced we both were holding onto that kiss, making it last longer, after all it was a rather fascinating first. It happened during a dumb school slow dance, making it more interesting than the rest.

What happened to Molly?

I heard she decided to teach English for young kids, as she was the oldest of the three or four. She wears frames now and curls her hair making it look far from natural, but her face is always beaming, well I think it is. I saw her a while since she exchanged schools after a while after our break-up. Molly got into a posh school, that’s what I heard. At least no fucker kept running saying that I was the love of her life.

Lola. She should. Lola.

Lola. Kayleen.

I rubbed my eye, feeling a light sleepy note in my yawn.

What was my ego’s first kiss?

I feel a numb pain feeling and seeing a rough kiss, as the girl held her eyes opened during the kiss. I couldn’t really hold them open as I melt straight away letting the feelings take over as my arms find somewhere to rest is the waist, the shoulders or tugged into the hair, stroking softly, maybe cupping the cheeks. I always was curious to watch it from that angle but always forgot.

The pain was coming as the dark haired girl in designer’s clothes walked through my memories like a ghost, trying to remind herself, but failing or maybe she was reminding my other self. Who was she? Well, maybe she was my ego’s girlfriend. Fair enough I had Lola while he cheated on her with with…

What was her name, Nor…man?

With that I drift asleep, feeling our memories bond. They bond slowly, as they fade into the far away box of long forgotten unused memories mixing as if we were both one whole. But then we were.


I watch him fall asleep as my past girlfriend walks in his mind along with Molly crying over the breakup. I whispered my name to him with no exact reason. I lean down next to him, as the walls whiter than ever surround us in a easing to him way. He won’t remember it anyway. I can just erase it, make it my own, like I always do. Amnesia. Then, someday in many years he’ll find out whenever one of us gets rid of the other.
I watch him wake up, as he raises his body from the bed, his eyes hinting that he may be a zombie, as he shows no emotion as his olive eyes scan the room, trying to hang onto some familiar memory. Nothing, he tugs on his hair, feeling nothing, as I press myself against the wall, feeling a numb echo of his dreams follow him behind, as he blinks and presents me the ability to sleep tightly.


It had been the first chapter where I barely editted and read, enjoying it in quite a while.

I'm going to miss Roman.

Chapter 31

Tuesday, 22 February 2011


I want to hold you close
So that the hug
Will choke
The air we hold
The silence we grasp
As the words will flow
Once it ends on mute
To maintain the thoughts
Above the covers
You hold so high
To which I'd jump inside
To fall
And see your face above
As a rainbow shows upon your brows
I'd kiss it off
The birthday cake
To pin you down
As if I'd were the one
You hold
But is it were the gaps end
When the reveals are exchanged
And the fear to admit
Is held
As the denial lingers upon those who deserve
Cut the knife
And it shall be thrown
Just because I saw the colour
Doesn't mean the others will
Or believe in a thing they'd see
As the canon is raised above
The cross
The sin
To carry
As the nose would seal
The envelope
With the given
As not all hold
What had been thrown
Growing out
Those chins
Which I want to smash against the walls
But, please
I do not want their blood on my hands
Not because the thought of an insignificant dare
Scares me
But because I won't wash it off
Even if you'd lick
Just to these
The things I saw
Until the covers glowed
In the dark
Which I had on my cheeks
Until you touched them
Peeled them off
Your hands
My skin
Let me kiss
So that
Would wake

Blank Devotion 25

Monday, 21 February 2011

Papercut. Chapter 29

But what then happens to me?

Do I fade away?

I try to move my arms as the tingle goes up, as I see hazel eyes in front of me. He leans in, his hair bleaching out, his eyes lightening to a familiar green which I see in my reflections. Then he looks up, both our eyes green, he is a mere reflection, the tension as if it were the reflective substance in front, he doesn't touch me, but I already feel his lips wander upon my neck, the tension rising, as I feel some hands under my shirt, as I breathe heavier and I open my eyes. Did I say that I wanted him inside me aloud?

My other self smirks, as my body is no longer mine. He ruffles his head, his desires, letting them open, splitting them as an envelope, standing exposed, so identical, before letting go. Then with a quick move, he drops something over my eyes, a veil of honesty and innocence and he leans it, mouth slightly open, closes them upon my lips, as I feel the warmth around them, I feel my own mouth open, the vanity of having sex with myself, to discover what lies underneath the covers attracts me, I open my eyes to see a pair of hazel eyes and deep attraction, as I feel myself blush and he feels it. I wonder as I can't imagine myself with another body, we both close our bodies, the tension all over as he opens his mouth and I let my tongue slip inside, I touch his, I want him, as he continues to rub his body against my own,

we're married.


What happens to me?

Get lost. Go to hell. The question echoes in my head as I open my eyes. I feel dazed, tired, exhausted as I want to fall on the ground and beg everybody to leave me to lie down here, like in that video, Radiohead’s “Just” and wait for the end of the world, I want him to pick me up, I shiver.

“Roman, did you like the film?”

I look sideways, tilting my tongue to one side as I see the Lola lookalike stare at me with her big two coloured eyes. Her gaze practically yells out every single thought and intention in her mind, which causes me to shiver lightly, as I see Roman in front of me again and he's there, the mouth practically devouring mine and the intentions open, as if he could jump on me and go on top.


Stop even calling me Roman.

“Hey, you can call me Norman if you want to. It’s like… a nickname, Roman, I mean.” I lie, Rome wants Lola.


Alice wants me or rather Roman, while Melvin is ruffling my head and it's not Roman washing my head in a bath-

Stop it, Norman.



Kayleen is-

I watch her make-out with whoever the guy is. Love slaps in the face, so I just look at her, knowing that I had kissed, a small soothing feeling that it's her is there and I wonder if and where the feeling ends, as if it's a line, as I had seen Roman's fantasy, I wonder if I'll see Kayleen and I imagine or rather I see her, tying me up to a chair, her red hair reaching her lips, as she gets rid of it, with a fling, as I hear a familiar song filled with the tension we lack or rather she gives or the flirting notes I hold, I feel a need to add a feeling towards her, even if she holds nothing, as the passion for Roman is now locked, as I have him beneath me, even if I have never felt it. It feels sexier having him underneath or if he feels like it, I can be the one, I just don't want him to stop kissing me, as I wonder where our bisexuality ends and then I see Kayleen kiss my neck, as if she were Roman, I see her take her shirt off, it feels like a massive orgy, pornography with tension, as I feel my hands sliding down her shoulders, have you ever given a person pleasure, so that the eyes are nearly closed and the rhythm is held within mouths, she licks my lips and I rub my tongue, our mouths not touching, eyes held. She tasted.

Her boyfriend. Soon enough she pulls away from him and I feel that she leans back towards me, sliding her arms over my own, grinning into a small kiss. I feel calm. I press her towards me, she tastes, she tastes like Roman.

“Roman? I mean Norman.”

“Rome? Rome?”

“Jesus Christ, Melvin, we’ll be late.”

“Buuut mum I wanted that big red balloon! I won’t!”

“What? What do you mean next time? I am waiting for you half an hour already.”

“Oh my God, how are you?”

“He cheated on her? That bastard!”

He pulls her back in, she's yanked away from me, as he runs his hands against her shoulders, a motion to soothe. Kayleen hesitates for a minute, but gives in, her lips sold at a weak price and he tastes them, a tongue running over, faceless.

Do we all want Roman, should we kiss in front of him, while touching him?



It’s an exit.

I see her sit there, legs held open, jeans, eyes locked, a wooden chair, eyes held behind, an eyebrow raised as I'll walk up she'll tell me what she knows and Lola will yank me to ask where is Roman and what is going on, then some blur will happen in the white and I'll flip her over.

But I’m sick, let him realize what he is doing beneath.


The attraction between Norman and Roman is building and I love it, I love writing when I don't know and I am a reader myself and I love their attraction and it's stronger when in the first draft it was between Kayleen and Norman, but I know where I am going so yeah.

Did everyone get their copy of The King Of Limbs?

This is behind the scenes,

let's be honest, no Radiohead would make my work different, less intense, personal between the characters and I started listening to Radiohead when I was writing Papercut.

If we are going on track list the whole tension between Roman and Norman was written because of Lotus Flower and if the track would've been longer, they'd make love.

I am honest in my stories, at least I try to be and sometimes I hold back, but then it just goes wrong, my poems are open, I just forget about how open I went and post.

There is nothing which should be held.


(2014) I didn't think I'd do behind the scenes so many years later, but bullshit, they fuck here XD so I have no idea how the fuck did I put this in the homoerotism category and the fact that Norman states their sexuality. So… yeah, congrats to me, Papercut is now officially queer XD

Chapter 30

Wednesday, 16 February 2011

Red Lace & May

Look at the knife
Feel it tickle your bone
Let it go from behind
Look at me down
Can you feel it please your skin
A frame in a frame
As you grin from behind
As the hair is flown back
Eyes kissed by your lips
Trace them down
Stick them down your collarbone
Split it
Your heart
As the skin gets stripped
As two finger's are in the mouth's red paint
Make it gag
Clothes, the pool
On the floor
Of your soul


Behind the scenes apparently do seem interesting, so, welcome, I can't say that I'll write to all, but since there is, here it is. I was browsing through poems, choosing which one and yes, I do have many and they are chosen by my current mood and nothing seemed to match and my whole idea or rather thought of finding a long one seemed to stick around. In the end, Red Lace was born out of two poems which were rather small and I had enjoyed. They seemed to lack so-called 'violence' or dark tint.


Look at the knife
Feel it tickle your bone
Can you feel it please your skin
As the hair is flown back
Eyes kissed by your lips
As the skin gets stripped
Clothes, the pool
On the floor
Of your soul


You're a frame in a frame
Look at me from behind
As I'll close my eyes
As two fingers are in the mouth's red paint
Trace them down
Tickle your collarbone
Lipstick is banal
Stick them down
You'll reach it
With the mere tips

As many have noticed I do an accent on dark images, despite my nature, where I can't help but be an optimistic person, maybe that is what balances me and I even get called the happiest person ever despite what my poems and writing actually do say.

I've been into writing ever since and the sudden turn would be well, it's not that dark, is it?

Before I wonder off, picturing another character rather than myself, I'd like to say thank you to all who supoorted me and who did enjoy my blabbering please tell me if I should continue or not.


I am doing Script Frenzy. What genre? Ah, secret. Same for plot and which character ends up with who (I have a faint outline of the ending myself).

Also we are reaching indeed the ending of Papercut, which has taken another turn or rather the relations between the characters, Norman does not seem as keen and so is the relayion with Kayleen while Roman does not hit on Alice and brags about Lola.

In April the structure of graspTHEsanity shall be slightly changed into a diary format. Paperbag Writer shall be the next story which consists of thirty chapters making one chapter a day. Wednesday shall keep up the short story/poem format. If you feel that you want a short story/poem for the next wednesday feel free to tell me here, twitter or facebook or feel free to chat to me about whatsoever.

The next week a preview of 13 is an Utopia shall be posted, so the Wednesday after that is available.

Now, May.

Ooooof, May, sounds nice. What shall there be after May, hmmm?

Well, that is for you to decide, I have four novels to chose from and now, you, the reader choose what exactly deserves to be editted and posted once a week in the graspTHEsanity-esque format of once a week.


A girl who escaped from reality/I'm in love with the main character, the story, the concept, that I cannot add anything without blabbering and spoiling, yes, I go fangerlish on my own stories.


A love story from two points of view/A paragraph built on the past of another paragraph.


Papercut semi-prequel/Death


Falling out of love/As dark as the human soul can go.

There shall be a poll up where you can vote if you have any questions feel free to contct me and thank you.


Monday, 14 February 2011

Papercut. Chapter 28

I smile at that proudly, grabbing my jacket, wrapping my scarf tighter and heading outside. I didn’t see her, I didn’t feel her slap me, I didn’t see her silhouette in the distance. I didn’t see any posters, complaints from her friend, neighbors or even plain supporters.

Then as we sit on our seats, I lean and kiss Alice on the cheeks, stroking her hair as she smiles clearly embarrassed with herself on not reacting to my kiss by pulling me into one. The feeling of guilt is present when there is no other feeling, it's the blindfold where you imagine someone else rather than the tongue which licks you constantly, the body pressed above with the handcuffs, so why don't you just rip it, smear the snot and fuck yourself? Oh, the vanity. I kiss her cheek once more and turn myself to the movie’s credits showing fake fascination towards it, clouding my thoughts of Kayleen’s and my ego’s possible and close relation to my roommate.

Basically the thing was absolutely nothing special. The main characters got together in the end after having a on and off relationship with banal references to Romeo and Juliet, as if it's the only ever created love story, but them we all die just some have more sexual encounters, some have no contact at all.

I wonder how it truly is, if you just met once and that's it. What would you feel? Would you even feel it all? After meeting Lola, I kind of stopped believing in being forever alone.

But then isn’t our life a big fat on and off deja vu, when you kiss the same, hands do the same pattern and the feeling repeats like a broken vinyl until it shatters in nude hands?

I have no Freddy which spanks kids with his sexy claws, so I can't pull her close, pull her on top, go under her shirt in a kiss, pull on the blindfold, one on each or one, big blindfold, as Lola would rub the fabric on my knee.

A threesome.


It's free and then, she'd yank it off, grinning madly, taking my face in her hands, grinning, pressing her lips against my own, Kayleen forgotten, the skin, now exposed, familiar, as I'd kiss it, the blanket now off, exposing the long dry virgin blood, no suicide after an intercourse.

The girl the angel, which takes her position, literally too far, just because everything can be erased, her thoughts and beliefs naive. The cross as if it can be bent with the future.

The thing, which I didn’t expect much, was that, Alice actually liked it.

We walk on slowly, talking about the art classes, what I most likely was supposed to give them in a few weeks time, was that it, was that the only topic we'd held, no suicide theories, no madly grinning and singing random songs, accusing the stereotypes, as blonde hair would get in my eyes, blinding, like a razor.


You're supposed to miss, like waiting for an exhibitionist to expose her body and then you can let your hands wonder to touch and receive pleasure from a kiss.

I believe that even that was for the better, as it was time to depart.

I could see what she was expecting.

I had two scenes in my mind, an alternate matching with the current setting session like the one I had in my day yesterday and then I have Lola standing there looking curiously. Was she real, standing there, a lollipop in mouth, skirt held close to her legs, wrapping them, eyes covered by hair as she raises and I see them and I grin, I want to walk uo and hold her hands, lean it, dyed and real.

Then I lean in, holding my breath, thinking, if I am going too fast, if I lie too fast.

Just one second and she would close the gap, but I move back, brushing a loose steak of her hair back into place,

it's hesitation,

I hold.

Maybe I want something not as banal, since I had seen the after-sucky-movie kiss quite a lot and all of a sudden, I didn’t want anything to repeat with Alice. I wanted no deja vu, I wanted her lips to be there but no replacing the laughing blonde in my mind and the one which was pulling my black jacket off my shoulders, her fingers brushing against the back of my neck.

Hey, Lola.

I kiss her, her tongue familiar.

Am I kissing air, brushing my mouth against hers, her body now attached to mine, as I bring her closer, head sideways, as I can't stop, the kiss, the kiss, the kiss. Let everyone flood inside my head, let me take over, let me pin you to the ground, let me roll over, let me just take you above once more, so that you'd reach the sky and hold it, as I'd crawl back into your arms, please let me welcome you.

As if I was bored with everything that happened before in my life, as if I want to rub it off, but then I can’t say that I didn't do that. I just wanted something new, something fresh as if I was bored and I was due to the endless references in my earlier teenage years to other lives, that I should stop thinking about the blonde, but then

I was going to 20 in spring, wasn’t I?


Twen-ty. Roman was going to be twen-ty. I want to taste it on my tongue, but it would seem amazingly stupid as I had once been a sixteen year old, seventeen to be, as I found out earlier, wishing for me to break the barrier and then the taste had been more intense and shared. Should you share everything with a beloved?


I’m not making my life, banal, I’m just adding fireworks. Fuck ups. I lean in, to be stopped by a sudden hair ruffle.

“Roooome!” I glare at the culprit, to see two rather familiar faces.

“Melvin?” I say dumbly staring at his light blue hoodie showing from his jacket. He grins widely, throwing his arms around me in a tight hug. He is ruining my Romeo moment, so please, fuck off, and romantic balcony scene, if your evening started with Romeo and Juliet references then it shall end with it, amen.

Then, like in a final scene I see a familiar red head in the distance feeling a familiar and rather known to me tingle in the left arm, coming from my other self, who is now surely wanking.

The thing is that the process is rather dodgy, as well, when I feel it take over. It feels weird, like a mental breakdown, all characteristics leading to schizophrenia. I feel several mumbles, maybe waking up phrases talking to me in my head, shouting, something that I don’t understand. I feel a grip upon my throat, whispers licking my ear as he it echoes as a shout in my head. The tingle rises slowly over the arm, taking everything it the process, the arm, the shoulder, the torso, it catches the lower end of my body, but standing firmly on my legs, as it travels upper taking from where it came from my brain.

Soon enough the shout pierces my ears, twice the needle goes in and out, that I don’t hear anything as the vision turns blurry, then once it reaches the head, sticky fingers slide in the skin, the skull gone, taken out, Lola holding it, biting a chunk, it tastes like a green apple, hallucination, I feel it crack open, as if he crawls through, his eyes showing an amber shade in them, Lola takes his hands and pulls him out, the liquid out of his mouth washing him, giving him an appearance, acid eating his feathers on the head. The split bloke is beside me, takes my waist, slides under my jacket, fingertips, so cold, lips against my cheek, tongue slides in the open mouth, not touching and out, the air mocked. He covers my eyes, my mouth and drenches me in it… My cheek kissed.

It feels like a nightmare cracking through as several past actions, he slips through my mind into the open, telling him the past and from what he should take on. Maybe it’s like a kiss of death, so numb, that my body brakes, which ends with awakening and returns soon enough. But in reality I feel rather numb enough to remember and describe it sanely. It feels like you also get given somebody else’s memories, just for one second and then you collapse, you're there, a quick exchange of lips. I get a quick flashback of what he did the previous time, but like a dream, I wake up and know nothing besides the sweat in hand, a chocolate visit, the waffle house attacked and the muffin man left as a treat, desert.

But then isn’t that a good thing?

Forgetting your mistakes. Didn’t we ever wish that even once in a lifetime? And by the looks of it that is the only calming thought, as I take over, I can forget and blame myself.

And what terrifies me is that I let him forget myself.


Happy Valentine's Day!!!

The whole concept or rather the minor plots are changing, as I edit such as the relation between Roman/Norman and female characters, while the bond between Lola and Roman is now heavily built and strong.

Chapter 29

Tuesday, 8 February 2011


I flick my lighter.

You're pregnant!

I flick my lighter.

I keep smoking and nothing, I even do regular checks, feeling that soon enough my drug will be taken away from me. Only then when I was waiting and when I was pregnant, I sat there waiting, wondering what was that inside me, as I had been young and the cigarettes were just a mere thought.

I had my legs under myself, wondering where had the music gone.

I headed out, as I knew what was there building inside me, laughed, as if it were all a blur and lit my last for the other months fag.

Fine, I lied I smoked a lot and ate a lot of junk my doctors shove me, my ex now erased from my memories, if he cannot accept, it's not my fault.

I had been smoking, nursing Zane and as he grew up and yanked the fag from my mouth. I laughed at his coughing, knowing that he like his father would never like it, bitter never sweet and he'd wonder how come and I'd just ruffle his hair.

He had been twelve then, both of us on the sofa as he just stared at the turned off television, as his own imagination was drawing images. I knew what twelve was like, I have been twelve and not that long in nearly the same world which surrounds my son.

I remember I had been changing lighters, a sparkly pink one, as all were out of stock as I had ranted on a pale Zane, everything around him spinning, I put him down, trying to lull him into my plain thoughts, as he looked at me and told me.

My son was a homosexual.

You're not supposed to judge yourself with that at twelve out of all the ages, then he had told me, everything, the two kisses he had shared and the one heterosexual attempt he had and what he felt. He had sat up then, his body shaking as I got a blanket, sat beside him, not knowing what to reply, as I had tried to imagine my son's tongue and body besides a reflection, I imagined the rainbow flag and woman loathing as some associations crept up in my head, as I rubbed his back.

I needed time.

I lit a cigarette, watching my son shiver the future into his veins.


I recently published my novel, 13 is an Utopia which is now available on Amazon

and Create Space

The short story was intended to go on, as I enjoyed Zane's mum, perhaps even more than any parent shown in 13 is an Utopia, because she has Zane's genes and if a parent deserves a backstory, it's definately going to be her.

Sunday, 6 February 2011

Papercut. Chapter 27

Feel the main character snog the main heroine, look at the scattered locks, as they melt in each other's mouth, lips biting, then the hair bleaches out, the skin tans and turns into crisp, yell, spill the popcorn, I'm in the seat, the library I came from with broken canvases falling from the sky, the sky resembling eternity, something endless I'll never be able to reach, even if I'll hold my hands together, there'll be a light guiding up, as if I'm supposed to jump above, watching the purple mood swing over my shoulder, take my tongue, pull. Remove the french and gasp.

She's besides me a room away, just a mere wall, under the warm covers, a nightgown covering the pale body and blood red hair.

I turn my head, pressing my cheek deeper into the pillow trying to numb the upcoming tingle numbing my right arm, going upper, a hit to the head, as if somebody turned over a bucket of cold water over me.

I close my eyes.


“Roman? You ok?” She pulls my hand, grinning maniacally, nearly skipping like a school girl as my cheeks give out everything. Her hair is up in a high ponytail revealing her cheekbones and every area of her face which was lightly hidden behind her hair before. Basically, three years isn’t much of a deal. I dated once a girl, well, my ego did. Long ago. He also dated a girl older than hi-

I bite my lip, gripping my grip on Alice’s hand as she takes it as a sign of closure and brushes her arm against mine. I glance at her, not even forcing out a smile as it comes out naturally. I nod, holding myself from further action corrupting my brain at the current moment. I watch her ramble at the endless homework she still has to go through, as she laughs at her teachers, fixes her ponytail and smiles.

“I hated my teachers too. Load of weirdos. But university isn’t much a difference despite the fact that less useless… subjects.” I say trying to keep on with the conversation, realizing that I may have added too much pauses in my speech and taken too much time to think instead of saying the first thing that came to my head. “So big muscular guy killing everybody with the good guys or romantic comedy?”

My fear of blood kills violence.

She seems to hesitate for a moment tapping her index finger against her lip, as she catches me stalking her for that half a minute, eyes caught, pin me, baby.

Go inside me, rip me apart as I'll do it.

“Let it be the second, you ok with that?” I nod, causing her to throw one arm around me pulling me into a half hug, let's change roles, both of our cheeks exposing the closure. Then we both pull back as it was our turn to get the gates. We bought them without saying anything off the topic of cinema to each other, mostly discussing which row.

Back… row? There is no hesitation, there is just tension and the lack of release just depends on who do you want to blame it on.

Like the one behind you, tied my hands, my eyes with the blood I once spilt.

“Ok, yeah, the middle seats over there.” Alice smiles, glancing at me earning an approval in the form of a light nod. “So do you live with your parents?”

Go personal.

Is a relation with yourself a sin, I can feel his hands on my neck, they are rough and there is no interest, as he raises the blindfold revealing one of mine bloodshot eye, his hands upon my lap.

I love myself.

“Um, no. Flat mate. She studies poems and stuff. Literature in other words. Relax, she’s got a boyfriend and isn’t exactly my type.” I say spilling the beans straight away, as they scatter and burn.

“Oh, unfortunately I still live with my parents.” I hear that in a light haze, feeling a weak pain in my head.

Kayleen smiled at me warmly this morning, her eyes pleading for something I didn’t even want to even think. I didn’t imagine that kiss in the cheek she gave me right away as I walked downstairs half dazed. It was real, as I felt her lips brushing against my cheek. Then she did something which was rather in a girl’s nature after a while.

“Won’t you kiss me g’bye?” Those words were like thunder on a nice sunny day. I stared at her, feeling as a cig dropped from my mouth, a shouting voice in my head, dreams of pressing herself against that bookcase, the same books. He stepped over the line. I stared at her then, turning my head, pretending to be interested in the colour of the leafs in the tea bag breaking it in half, feeling my hands shake.

“Why should I? Don’t you have a boyfriend, Kayleen?” Before I could say anything she turned away, biting her lip, muttering curses towards herself. I swore I heard her shut the door with a bang. I didn't picture her outside, I knew she'd sit somewhere on a bench, the leaves cutting the flesh, as she'd, fuck, lay, him above. I hope he didn’t rape her and that I won’t become a freaking father at nineteen. I hope he used protection. Long love.

I drank my tea, having the image of her hugging myself as she swam on, trying to open the second eye, grabbing his chin and biting it, as his hands would be locked behind.

He fucks up my life.

I fuck up his life.

And being on top is fucking sexy.

Chapter 28

Tuesday, 1 February 2011

I Remember Thinking Murder

People fail at kissing scenes
People fail at sex scenes
Both banned in the mind
As the eyes are closed from a plastic pencil
Just because some didn't get fucked once
Even if it were in the back of the mind
The thought of touching your own
Never comes
Because you never touched another
The phrases one after another
The banality there
Just because it repeats
By a billion fuckers
The tension risen
As hands are tied to the feet
Some dumb fetish achieved
As all is questioned in the mind
Nothing formed
Just given
Even when you touch it's not enough
Melancholy under the bed
With the webcam
Selling whatever you do
As the hand goes down with the thought
Will this be banned
Smile into the webcam
Because none had ever touched themselves this way
The honest not needed
But rather a scream
With a few locked on the bed lesbians
As all is given
Just because you look around
The tongue which went deep
Got cut off
Because it shouldn't be there
With the guy coming in a second
Just because it's told
Head leaned back
It's all the tension you were given from the side
As no woman is wanted
Just a few scattered dicks
With a golden homosexuality
On a silver bitten by yourself chain
As you tried to break it
But you came
Caught in the act
Of some love
Which was written
Sunken into the skin
The person you fucked


Request more openly gay poems in the comment section below.

Papercut. Chapter 26

A routine which whirls you around, until the throwing up is held and frequent and the sick feels sweet.

I want to share it with you and I'll never lean back.

The thing is, I never know when I am awake.

Maybe it’s a habit. I mean falling asleep on the bus, as if biding my energy before kid takes over.

Or an excuse to forget what happened. I press my cheek heavier into the icy window, an overdose of soul digging as I hit a bone.

But then I see a dark spot, my heart used to falling down for Macy, but not really.

Just a few feet and the heart doesn't fall, as my neck stretches out, reminding who is the culprit of the body and who touches it.


I wonder if I should scream into their ears, make his girlfriend cheat on him, by dragging her against me, a shovel against her lips, as I'd slip it glance at them once more, my face off the window, a numb ache embraces me and a tooth ache due to the cold glass pressed against my face for quite a long while.

My hair gets ruffled by the sleep I had or rather the feeling, as if the routine is held upon with fear.

My hair is a dyed blonde, as the other took it, throwing the bottle above, dying everything he could, every hair missed until he blinked and saw himself again, naked would he wear docs even with his thought hanging upon the reason.

I want them, I want my feet to come. I drag the scarf off, peeling the skin off, as the double make out in their hands, hands sliding slower and down. Sex a strong factor.

Can my scarf be the tie, I untie it, looking down, Macy to the touch.

I tap my fingers against the front seat expecting a mumble from the grumpy looking gran talking on a mobile with some friend of hers. But none came. I took that as my cue and stood up, rearranging my scarf by loosening its grip around my neck.

No need to give out everything.

So I walk on, seeing Frankie glance at me with a quick eye roll. I grin widely, showing interest in that girlfriend of his. I wonder which stereotype I should follow or rather what I am expected to do. She turns around and greets me with a big smile. She’s not my type, but I sit on the opposite pair of seats, crossing my legs, grinning like the maniac which I am. And proud.

“Hey, Frankie. So whacha doin’? I’m…” I hesitate for a minute, as I chew on my real name, I haven't used it for a while let alone said it and now with Macy behind it seemed to come back from the dead. I ruffle my hair in the process, as if waiting for Frank to respond or some sort of action from the couple. The girl has chin length black hair, knee-high black docs, an amazingly bright stripy scarf, a black hat and a dark jacket, plaid shorts and bright fingerless gloves. She looks as a heavy contrast to her boyfriend, but they seem in a perfect kill and poured into a boiling soup harmony to be eaten with the leftovers.

“Oh, yeah, hey, Roman. Um, Lora, this is Melvin’s classmate from university. Just met him at the first day.” Frankie shrugs. Ok, no option now, I’m Roman. Always Roman, always keeping the cover. I’m Roman, I have dyed blonde hair to look like a Barbie, I wear a designer’s mossy green scarf thinking that my ridiculous girlfriend gave it to me when in reality it was my split-personality’s girlfriend, I also mourn over the fact that I do not remember how I dumped her, despite everything I don’t have to guts to reunite or replace her and on top of that my split-personality tries not to fuck up my already fucked up life by being a nice kid, like I am and I am going for a minor.

Oh, fuck you.

“It’s Norman, Frank. Nice to meet you, Lora.” I grin at her, jerking my head to one side, studying her that for a second her cheeks turn red. I think about making a move on her, thinking how hard Franco’s punch is. “But it’s ok, loads of kids, thinking that realism is eternal, too busy being good kids. Oh, screw it, of course there were thousands of billions kids scattered there, introducing themselves. ‘Frank, my name is Mary-Sue, nice to meet you, do you have a girlfriend? I love Edward Cullen and I want the stork to dump them above my glass mansion. I never had a boyfriend. Cocks are gross.' Typical.”

Lora glances at a confused Frank, as I re-do my scarf, wishing that I could change into something normal. Fucking white. He just had to wear it, thinking that it was like a fucking cross to protect from me, like onions trying to harm the vampire, the split-personality. Welcome to hell, you’ll deal with me, sweetheart.

“Nice to meet you, Norman. So-” Tries to think of a topic, fiddling with her hat bringing it up and down messing her black hair. Lora bites her bottom lip, glancing at Frank like a savior, waiting him to save her like a fucking prince on a white horse.

But then where’s my white horse?

I have a princess, but I am just a split-personality with no horse let alone a white one.

“I really thought it was Roman, Norman. How come Melvin came up with Rome then? Nome?” He blinks confused, tired and irritated. I wonder if I painted his naivety. I smirk, putting my hands behind my head, closing my eyes for a second letting them rest from the banal to the bones couple which was in front of me.

“Maybe.” Then a piercing silence was between us. I stared at both of them, realizing that I could get the hell out of here and get out to that bookstore a few blocks away I wanted to visit. I stand up, Macy's duct tape upon my lips, quickly glancing at Lora, seeing my next move, then at Frank’s knuckles.

“I was kidding, if I hurt you. See you, lovebirds. Ta.” I say turning on my heel, on the rubber, once again regretting the trainers I had on. I heard them say something to me but I ignored them jumping off the bus into the busy crowd, seeing no Doctor taking his tie in front of me, but then I was no fangirl. I walk on, not pushing anybody, not searching for anybody except for the green sign screaming ‘NORMAN BUY BOOKS HERE, SWEETIE’. I don't count my steps, freak out when I’d brush somebody’s sleeve due to their germs jumping on mine, not feeling afraid of the unknown faces pass by. I don't bother with who were they or what they were thinking of.

I love the feeling I had as I looked around even if the body was shorter, maybe skinnier and filled with unused sexual tension, as I walked around, not bothering, merely wondering what was upon.

Why should I care?

Why was I always acting like kid in occasions? I am the split-personality, I have counted minutes of breathing the air and I had to suffer being in his body, without getting one for myself, I had to deal with his fashion sense and love life.

But then even my name is connected with his, a person has to be deaf or amazingly stupid not to realize it. I walk on, walking past the doors, I wish they were glass, onto the fiction section, up the stairs which would lead me to it. The bookstore holding nothing as a few people scattered around the newest music magazines giving their predictions even if everything was far or even predicted, but the attention would always be there, because you'll never reach the gloss, even if you do it at home, touching. I scan the new section, trying to find something not soapy, angst, maybe with a bit of gore but too much, kid would kill me. I want to tear over life with my fingertips and then eat it with my tongue.

Kid, kid, kid.

I grab three gore screaming books knowing that I, the split-personality would love them and turn around to see a familiar red head in the romance section.

Does anyone even know what it feels and I wonder who had discovered and if Rome really felt the same for Lola, the body is there, it doesn't go jelly, the eyes just sharpen up and stick to the figure, devouring, as the body reaches a maximum level of tension.

Wondering if I should tap her shoulder, hug her, but nothing catches my eyes, as the eyes look further.

“Hey.” I say, the fear there, everyone holds it, but then I try to scan it off, wondering what I hold in common, scanning the books in her hands, but I know none as I am a big fat zero in romance. She smiles back, putting a steak behind her hair, greeting me in a warm, friendly to roommate way. Nothing screaming, “So typical. I just had to bump into you in the only bookstore in this city.”

You hold it.

Is Roman rough in my head, as Norman isn't?

“Yeah, I guess. So how was your day, Roman?” They way she said Kid’s name sounded foreign to me, because technically she wasn’t greeting me, she was greeting the culprit of this stupid dyed blonde hair choice. Couldn’t he choose something as absurd as red or blue? No, he chose blonde. If he was aiming for Tidus, he's not really athletic since he spent all his life sketching as well as I had and not because I had no other choice, mind you, I could've fucked-

Wait, I did.

I gulp, wanting to tell her, but then do you have to be honest? I want to ask her to stop calling me that name which my existence is glued to, all my fingers sticking and together as they form a metallic rope, chain around the body digging inside, something divided in the mouth. In reality I am taller, I am more mature, I had hazel eyes, chocolate hair and an enigmatic attractive smile. I try to grin the way I usually did, one end up, as high as possible the other resembling half a small smile, but failing, feeling lost in a foreign corpus. But then I glance at her, seeing interest in her light eyes. My mouth is too small, my ribs too big, my fingers small, the grip comical.

I am Roman.

“Good. My students could be way worse. I got lucky. I really did. Thanks.” I say, knowing who leads me onto Thomas and his red haired son which the balloons I sent attached, the banality stuck onto the teeth, as Roman traces the fingers against my neck, sink your lips inside me own. She blushes lightly, looking away. I want to grab her chin, I want her to take my away, the mute the heavy breathing, as hands go lower in the mind, a wall to be pressed against or to rub against. “Yours?”

Even if her tongue is all I care about.

“Not bad. Lazed off. I’ll have a sleepless night doing homework, anyway I’ll have a regular, banal Sunday night before a whole nice long week. Nothing special.” Roman is there, his teeth biting the sticky tape, Kayleem below me, legs around, the thoughts linger as a main factor of humanity is erased or exaggerated by the media.“Roman, you’re dazing off. Did you have enough sleep?”

The eyes close, as I look at her, she's close.

What's holding me from whirling around?

“Yeah, sorry, just slightly tired. I should’ve picked up something easier but not a skull. Had to fix their fatal errors. Nothing major.” She calls him by his name again, I want him out, I want my tongue inside, as you'd be there responding, even if there is no reflection in your eyes, no mine, as if I were nothing, but then her eyes were overcrowded by her own thoughts, that I could look and watch, falling asleep, if I felt like holding her eyelids and not touching her in the first place. I could say that friends call me Norman and that she is free to call me that, but then kid doesn’t actually know my name he sees me as his unwanted split-personality, alter-ego, I am the wrapper to the candy. That’s it, basically, that’s what I am actually.

Corrupted brain. Fear. Stress.

Aren’t those my parents from who I came from? Who gave me to this word, placing me as a small seed labeled ‘psychologically unstable’.

“But isn’t it good, giving hard tasks, I mean?” She asks me as we head towards the cashier. Kayleen pays first, ignoring the shop assistant’s flirty grin and comments. She’s dragged into our conversation, as I pay for my own books. We walk on, realizing that there is time and we walk on, the first two blocks chatting about my day and the next about hers, slipping onto school life, endless homework and annoying teachers. Slowly our talk creeps onto music, movies and TV shows we enjoy. Somewhere around the seventh block, a silence creeps upon us, as our fingers brush. The topics just don't run out, they just become mutual and to describe the phrases is going personal even if you remember every accent.

As said before we’d burn all possible mittens.

The fingers brush, right and left, I don't know whose is which, as I lean forward, the kiss is just held, a slap of shock across the face and then your tongue is greeted by another, teeth, lips, hands, exposed skin, hands browsing all over bodies, thoughts crossed out, taken away, the papers thrown in the air.

You can't describe a kiss, such as a last love or your current, the gap you fall in with


the eyes you hold and you had sewn inside out.

I intertwine my fingers with hers, looking sideways, interested in the passing bus. I feel like a school boy again, maybe like Roman’s first date with Lola, maybe my own or maybe even the first time I ever liked a girl. Then, with a deep exhale, regretting the cig I dropped in the bus while I was asleep, I find the power to look at her.

I could grow bored.

Never maximize a kiss, it's never enough, fill it with the desire you hold, so I yank her towards, remember, remind me later, there's enough.

Is it a tree?

I'd fucking chop it off, put her above, spread her life out.

How could I grow bored of her?

Even if I do, I enjoyed it.


Hello, what I'd like to note out this time is that the chapter and the structure was entirely different until I looked or rather wrote it before, I started thinking who I actually do see and the whole concept of the relation between Norman and Kayleen made me think over, what exactly is going on, what should be redone and here it is with Norman questioning himself rather than Norman falling for someone he barely knows, there is hesitation, there should be,


because it's Norman and there was once Macy, mind you.

Chapter 27