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This is a poem.

I call it: Fiasco.

So... I don't know how

 Any of this works...okay:

 Tears me apart with

Raw violence

Again, it

Gnaws on my

Existence, it makes my

Dull mind think of

Your yellow front teeth.

“You are not as I believed you to be,” it says. 

It. Her. Me? 

It looks just like me! Well, except the thing with transparent nature, grey color and very dark areas under “my” eyes. 

“Oh?” I manage to reply.

She floats, turns upside-down and looks at me with a most peculiar look.

“Well - as I am supposed to be your darker aspects, all that you don’t want to see or acknowledge with yourself - I expected you to be... the lighter aspects of... well, you."

“What... do you mean?”

She turned around a bit, looked at the little shack. I noticed her embarrassed face from the back of her head since I could see through her.

“Ah, I don’t want us to get off to a bad start, after all, I am something one is not supposed to love or embrace, so I thought I wanted to give you a really good first impression. Silly me to always say what I think and feel, one should be more polite, I need to train those skills.”

She stops. Looks at me, bows and says:

“You are most welcome to my home, dearest. Long time, no see! Would you like me to get you something?”

I follow her in as I don’t have the conscience to say that she can't make me anything, but I stop when I see her take something down from a little shelf and begins to cook in a kettle.

Instead, I try to start a new conversation.

“So. You are my darker aspects...?”

She nods and smiles. The dark areas under her eyes make it look scary.

“Yes, I am! I am you - at your service! You came to me for a reason and I know you are curious about just that. You are here because of your negative thought patterns. Mostly, because you think you can save the world.You think that you alone are the answer to all. I have to inform you that this is not correct.”

She sighs and looks down at the kettle.

“I guess we can wave goodbye to that great first - and second impression, right?”

before the precipice of the world 

where time is naught

and darkness uncloaks the day

standing afore a mirror

haplessly shattered

yet eerily beautiful 

reflected a thousand times

a diaphanous spirit

a flightless sparrow 

a forsaken soul

filled with severed dreams

blighted by longing 

a tiny heart

infinitely pierced

waits

forevermore

My very first reaction is gasping: I shudder as I try to get as much air inside of my lungs as possible.  Then I turn around in repeated circles, trying to take in all that this place is. Everywhere I find cold grey tombstones, several without text. It is as if the grass has absorbed the grey color from the stones and silently lays there, waiting to be found.

I jumped as I saw something sitting on one of the tombstones, then breathing out with my hand on my chest, realizing that what I saw was a Christmas decoration: a red sock in silvered red.

That reminds me of where I am: inside of my mind. Where I am safe, and in my power. This doesn’t help, however: the graveyard is still there. 

“Maybe this is one of the two steps the man was talking about?”

Yes. If this was all about me - at least what I could do about things - this had to be one of my core challenges. One of those that stopped me from being me and from doing what I knew I was supposed to do. With this in mind, I start to walk around looking for clues. I do not find it scary anymore - although death is a pretty uncomfortable aspect.

I can hear someone singing. At the end of this graveyard, I see a house, and since there is nothing else to look at here but graves, a fence around the corners of the platform - and the building of stone at the end of the area - I guess that I am supposed to go there. 

As I enter this little, old shack, I find a tiny home: A table with chairs, a kitchen in one of the four corners, a very old bed and some pretty fantastic decorations on the walls. One of them looks like a giant poster with real moving nebulas. I step inside, unsure of what to do next. I notice something soft under my feet. As I look down, I see a worn carpet almost as grey as the walls. When I look up, I see an old lightning bulb hanging from the roof. 

The singing is more like a hum. I cannot see anyone so when I suddenly notice something coming through the wall, I scream. I run outside and when I am silent once again, so is everything else. I am not sure of what to do. I don’t need to think for long.

“Hello? Are you there?”

So, it speaks. This thing I saw coming through the walls politely asks where I am. What was it anyway? I didn’t get a chance to see it.

But I do scream again when it pops out its head from the wall next to me. Then I see what it is and I get entirely numb.

It is me.  

i am not a remote italian village where life is taking its time i only get a break during one of those flights between paris and shanghai when for twelve hours everything stops even though you would die if god made the plane drop

stuck in the air I realize while i pretend i am Voltaire i am one of them who forget that life has an end successful the devil gets my attention when I am a mere soul whose bet on life is to understand why the bad guy gets a pension