THE GOLDEN AGE

I chased my shadow
down along the illuminated avenues
among faceless men and trees now condemned.
I ran after her
out of breath with only the sound of my footsteps
to guide me
on this degenerate journey
towards the unexplored abyss
In the middle of the day
on the broken stage of an old theater
turned to the abandoned audience
she waited for me wearing a golden mask
I gave my shadow a face
She didn’t forgive me
In gold I dipped your hair and your dreams.
I was good at making you forget the sun.
Dawn was ahead of us and you stared at me
like the only bright star.
You will have kisses and sweets
from the blue horizon.
Kisses and sweets from my blue lips.
We are drunk with eyes
and with those who look at us.
But we will go elsewhere while
the world awaits the golden end.
You dripped your sadness into my golden lake
but you didn’t make me sad.
I listened to your favorite cruelties but I didn’t get involved in them.
You have played with all the dice and numbers to be able to calculate our future but I am a more infinite puzzle than an equation.
The last blue night rises and stays inside green bottles.
Sleep arises and you sleep while I look at your dreams and make them come true.
I’m your lucky charm.

THE LADY’S PERVERTION

It was dark outside. I was getting changed to go out for dinner. I was almost in front of the window, because the mirror was between the two windows. Suddenly a red light out there grabs my attention. He is standing in the middle of the trees. I remain motionless. I know he is watching. He doesn’t want me to forget what happened, our years together, our perverse bond. He doesn’t want me to forget anything like he does. But he does it in a manic way. He keeps the memories of every second, every minute and every hour of his life in his inner filing cabinet. I rearrange my dress. I know he wants to see me shaken but I have to act like he’s not there. His love was not. It was control. I had the power but he wanted to control me from below. He now wants to see if I live happy. But he knows that I cannot be happy neither with him nor without him. The razor’s edge of our story was metal and dangerous. But he couldn’t imagine that I was really different from the others. What was dark in me he hadn’t seen well. This had been his failure. A Dark Lady is not that easy to spot and he hadn’t been able to grasp the details. When he realized he had lost the future with me it was already too late, I had decided his destiny and I had closed my heart forever. I was there, in my house, ate, went out, smiled and lived. He was there in the dark, without money and without a life. He was trying to still exist, to exist for me. Instead I existed for myself and I had broken his game. I had discovered his bluff. He no longer ate, no longer had a home, no longer had friends. He only had me. He lived only for me. Every night he stood there in that darkness that had created between us. And he saw me living without him. Sometimes I left the window closed. Sometimes I opened the curtains. I knew that his only life was there in my daily nothingness. His goal had always been to destroy me inside. Destroy my vital spark. But he couldn’t know about my destroying Demon. His was a fiction. But mine was real. By the time he realized the power of my mind, everything had already vanished from his hands.

DAMNED ART

my dark side always stands out. it is a constant struggle. it sinks and resurfaces. you continue to breathe while remaining at the bottom of the sea. submerged in torment, chained to the passion that takes away a piece of me every day, I fight an existence of continuous death. a black blood flows in my veins, I tried to purify it, eradicate it, erase it from my every vein, from my every cell. but it always remained where it was, even when it seemed to disappear. Each time it regains the upper hand and holds me prisoner in its claws. The night is nothing, it is during the day that the atrocious suffering of being and not being at the same time begins. Like a crack in a well-programmed clock that has this little detail. I ride on the lost hours of my inhuman time and I lose myself in the shadows that are drawn in my secret garden. A little girl comes out of the past, brings flowers to a grave, and says her name is Ophelia. That little girl was me at the age of five, and I was reciting death on the Persian carpet at home. I soon appreciated the silence of certain places where the only living presence were the marble angels. The scent of rotten flowers followed my steps. I never felt so happy as my first time at the cemetery. Was that the paradise everyone was talking about? there you could stay like that, just as you were. He didn’t have to talk to anyone, he could sit and stay for hours with them, the stone angels. They whispered sweet words to me and I alone heard them. The candles fascinated me, I wanted to take them home, my mother scolded me, you can’t steal from the dead! She said. I was upset, for me they were the flames of their lost hearts and I wanted to keep them safe, in my home. Then, when I was finally grown up, I bought as many as I wanted and my room glowed with flames. They were so happy to me, people didn’t understand light, they thought they were candles of the dead and that was it. I miss the cemeteries. It has been a long time since I entered it anymore and nowhere have I found that silence again, perhaps only when my struggle ends will I be able to rest too and be just a stone angel. Art is a need. An instinctive need to create. An instinctive need to be and communicate one’s being to others. Affirming one’s existence with the creative act is the only way to live. Feeling such a force within oneself, an energy, an immense explosion, a storm that never settles down. A sea that is always stormy to its depths. Art is power. The power to create from nothing. giving life to what has never existed, which has never been seen, which has never been read. A sublime, divine, most perisolos power. Art feeds on souls. Art is insatiable, it is a ferocious demon, and whoever takes it is doomed and for all life seeks the escape route but one never gets rid of art. It is like a second skin and if you take it off, you skin down and you can’t live anymore. You have art in every cell, like a deadly virus, which never becomes a disease but which accompanies you throughout your life as a faithful travel companion. Art grinds your flesh, your spirit, your whole life. It crushes you and lifts you into the highest sky. you can see without eyes, hear without ears, draw without using your fingers. Art is a miracle of life and death. Whoever possesses the gift is condemned to a parallel life. You enter and exit as if through a window. We go in and out of ourselves, we feed ourselves to swine, we are left in pieces and then we start again. Who would ever want such a life? yet everyone envies us and do not know what it means to have the FIRE that consumes you!

NARCISISTIC WOMEN

SIGNS YOU’RE DATING A NARCISSIST

  • You often feel manipulated
  • You never feel good enough
  • You feel exploited and used
  • They lie without remorse
  • They are arrogant and demeaning
  • Their life and history is chaotic and messy
  • They attack you and attempt to bully you
  • They ghost you and disappear from your life

When we think of sociopaths and psychopaths, we generally think of men. The Golden State Killer, The Night Stalker, Jack The Ripper—all men. But what about women?

Anti-Social, narcissistic and Machiavellian behavior that is found in women generally flies under the radar. 

Narcissistic women aren’t using outright aggression and violence to terrorize their victims. Instead, they use manipulation and covert bullying to terrorize the people in their life.

The female narcissist is the true personification of a wolf in sheep’s clothing.

She appears in the form of a sweet, innocent girl, a kind-hearted mother, a vivacious, energetic, joyful woman, a kind, old grandmother—yet her motivations are often sinister and dark.

Deep beneath that sweet exterior lies something much more sinister: there lies a desire to destroy, hurt, and manipulate.

So why do female narcissists behave this way? What do they want? And what feeds this darkness within their soul?

Narcissistic women want, in no order of preference: power, dominance, control, wealth, status, resources; and, most disturbing of all, a desire to inflict pain on others, which leads to a sense of fulfillment and deep satisfaction on the part of the narcissist. 

It should be noted that both men and women find themselves victims of the female narcissist, although usually in different ways.

Female victims are used to serve, feed and support the narcissistic woman’s ego, to serve her bidding like a servant serves its master. 

While male victims are used to provide the narcissistic woman with attention, status and resources until the man is milked dry and is of no further use.

https://www.developattraction.com/narcissistic-women/

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