#cedoma

Used. A joke. Pathetic. Crazy. Played. Where is the fun? Where is the love? Where is the peace? I feel the pressure. I feel the void. I feel the madness. I feel the pain. Actual physical pain. I feel the anger.

You didn't know. How could you? All the heartache, all the abandonment, all the struggle, all the loneliness.

You don't know how to love me. You don't know me. It's not you. You are just another clueless guy. You just stick to what you know. You just went along for the ride. Like they all do. Just a fun time with a weird girl that you'll dump when things get messy or when you don't feel like it anymore.

And I. I am just sitting here. Burnt. Trying to make sense of all of this. And I feel drained. I feel drained. I feel drained. I feel drained. I feel drained. I feel drained. I feel drained. I feel drained.

drained

drained

drained

drained

drained

drained

drained

drained

I wish I could type until this feeling ceased to exist. I wish you could make it go away. But you won't. No one will. It's me and myself and I again. With a suitcase in one hand and the work on the other. Just work. Just write. Just work. Just push. Push. Push. Push and this feeling will go away. And this pussy will heal. And this body won't hurt.

 Matthew Olzmann

Ignore the world

A room of one's own

Private but bright

Constructed by boundaries

Decorated by memories

Mended to let the mind breathe

This is it

The space you carve

Wrapping your arms around your shoulders

My lungs are filled with smoke My eyes are tearing up Rivers through relics on my cheeks

I place my hands on the ground My palms are one with the soil The pulse is sensate

The life as we knew it Will be a tale that we’ll tell our children It will be kept in boxes and happy childhood memories

We will try to recreate the air We wil try to remember what the sea felt like We will try to explain what a forrest was

In the dark hours of introspection Surrounded by cigarettes and self loathing I am faced -finally- with the deepest corners of my being Wide open, I stare at Lycabetus hill My mind flies away, before it returns back inside For a ride to the little truths I ‘ve been keeping a secret Am I ready for this? I guess not, but I am here now The moon is nowhere to be found  And the soul is trapped between the city lights I remember you, indifferent towards me Years later, it’s you again Reappearing like we just met Full of promises It’s not the first time But I shall sit still And wait for you to see the absurdity  As the night progresses and I sink further away My eyes are closed, I can only see the light The surface seems far enough  I open my eyes Being alone is a priviledge In a world surrounded by digital contact These moments of complete immersion Analog interractions with the inside of the brain Weeks after Digitally reflecting It’s inevitable To stay put To be alone

I remember falling in love in spring I have fallen in love in the summer, in the winter I have even fallen in love in autumn But I particularly remember falling in love in spring Caressed by the touch of zephyr warm, loving - full of promises tickled by the bitter lemon’s flowers optimistic and naive as the day I was born

Spring; mother of seasons I offer you my heart you have treated it so well again and again, I bow to you Your gestating feeling of creation is carrying my soul through affection and inspiration It awakens thoughts

they keep me walking

they keep me warm 

they bring a light into the darkness of my soul

the prior existance is now a shadow a dissimilar entity calmly overlying  prior existance’s preceding reality

they reside together looking one another savorless observation no comments involved just silent astonishment

Standing by the sound of propellers mending with the raping sound of saws dust and smog and exhaust fumes whilst the wooden memories unpicked are thrown three storeys down I could hear the sirens I knew the asphalt was burning I kept myself back it’s inevitable to clash with reality becoming a follower is a trade for life standing by reading about injustice standing by numbly listening gentrified and privilleged