The letter to my other self


Image found HERE

The letter to my other self

Evenings occur, dear,
when the constellations whisper you
with acryl notes,
the stitches snap
and the mouth from a number crooks
into a crescent
that drunkenly writes down
algorithms on napkins.
The compass needle
pierces my spleen
with it’s voodoo dance,
we are all waiting for something
hidden under parasols.
I beg on some street corner
for a drop of formaldehyde,
I am writing one hundred
farewell notes
inside the skirt of some smelly bar.
Evenings occur, dear,
when nothing is enough.

It occurs that I need nothing,
that distilled hop
and a broken capillary  
become quite the same thing
and then the avenues of cherry trees
bloom like a freshly tapped vein
ready for a new dose
of the unbearable easy understanding
of the simple sentence definitions of beauty;
it occurs that it is easier for me
to get used to the atrocity
of the stale minced meat
behind the glass pane
and to exchange tongue with her
and only in front of her be honest.
Evenings occur, dear,
when there is too much of everything.

Evenings occur, dear,
when in delirious madness
I strengthen myself exceedingly
and sit on the window pane.
I tune myself to E
and I howl for you
like a wounded wolf
that paints with his goodbye
all the crocuses to red,
it occurs that I weep for pain,
that I bite it,
that I curse it
for only giving the sky
a partner to swing with.
On the left, the tram machinery
drives around the fairytales on “pause”,
while only a train has not passed
through my head yet.;
evenings occur, dear,
when I disappear,
and I am gone,
I oscillate around you
like a ghost that smells of chestnuts.

And you, with tangled hair
and tired feet,
lethargic from kisses;
it occurs often
that to the first woman that I see
I sing out:
“Nurse, pass me the scalpel!
Help me kill myself properly!”.
It occurs that they heed.
It occurs, dear,
that the hunger overpowers me
so desperately
that I cut open my chest
and eat
everything inside, like it’s a strawberry cupcake;
for what is one hollow
in the sea
of grasshopper violinists!
It occurs, dear,
that I think I will forever be
the lantern on the platform
that watches you go home.
And you don’t even care,
you aren’t even slightly worried
will we ever



Pismo mojem drugom delu

Dese se večeri, draga,
kada te sazvežđa sapucu
akrilnim notama,
konci popucaju,
i usta se iz broja iskrive u polumesec
koji pijan ispisuje
po salvetama.
Igla kompasa
mi vudu plesom
probada slezinu,
svi cekamo nesto
sakriveni pod parasolima,
prosim na nekom uglu
za kap formaldehida;
pisem stoto oprostajno pismo
u skutu nekog smrdljivog bara.
Dese se veceri, draga,
kada mi nista nije dovoljno.

Desi se da mi nista ne treba,
da mi destilovani hmelj
i popucali kapilar
budu sasvim jedna ista stvar.
I onda ne mare ni za tebe ni za mene
drvoredi treshanja u cvatu;
bujaju ko sveze pljasnuta vena
spremna za novu dozu
nepodnoshljivo lakog
prosto-prosirene definicije lepote;
desi se da je meni lakse
da se naviknem na grozotu
ustajalog mlevenog mesa
u staklenom izlogu
i da sa njom razmenim jezik,
i da samo pred njom budem iskren.
Dese se veceri, draga
kada je svega I previse.

Dese se veceri, draga,
kada se od bunilnog ludila
osilim da sednem na okno,
da se nastelujem u E
i da te dozivam
kao ranjeni vuk
koji svojim oprostajem
boji sve safrane u crveno,
desi se da zavapim za bolom
koji mi fail,
desi se da ga ujedem
i da ga prokunem
sto je samo nebu dao
partnera za swing.
Levo, tramvajska mashinerija
prevozi bajke u pauzi;
meni jos samo voz
nije prosao kroz glavu;
dese se veceri, draga,
kad nestanem
i nema me,
i oblecem oko tebe kao duh
koji mirise na kesten.

A tebi umrshene kose,
i noge su ti umorne,
a od poljubaca ti se spava;
desi se da cesto
prvoj zeni koju ugledam
”Sestro, dodajte mi skalpel!
Pomozite da se ubijem kako treba.”
Desi se, draga,
da me i poslusaju;
desi se draga da me tako ocajnicki savlada glad,
da sam sebi rasecem grudi
i pojedem sve iznutra kao da je kolac od jagode;
sta je supljina jedna
u besomucnom moru
skakavca violinista!
Desi se, draga, da pomislim
da cu zauvek biti
svetiljka na peronu
dok se ti vracas kuci
i bas te briga, ni da se zabrines
hocemo li se ikada


~ by Oloriel on March 13, 2014.

31 Responses to “The letter to my other self”

  1. I really admire your brain, dear. This is just another incredible piece of writing. How can anyone think of anything like that and write it too, I always wonder when reading your poems and that is the reason that I don’t find any words to comment in appreciation, forgive for that. I’m in awe with this entire piece but I’ll still quote my favourite lines – ““Nurse, pass me the scalpel!
    Help me kill myself properly!”.
    It occurs that they heed.
    It occurs, dear,
    that the hunger overpowers me
    so desperately
    that I cut open my chest
    and eat
    everything inside, like it’s a strawberry cupcake”
    Just so stunning!
    Keep writing and keep inspiring !

    • Thank you very much for your word, Nekneeraj, i often find myself at a loss for speech before your poetry, but rest asured I do read it regularly and enjoy doing so 🙂

  2. This is dark and broody. Suicidal. I usually have to go through your poems three to five times just for the sheer love of the words and the lines.
    “I oscillate around you/like a ghost that smells of chestnuts . . .”
    “It occurs, dear/that the hunger overpowers me/so desperately/that I cut open my chest/and eat/everything inside, like it’s a strawberry cupcake . . .”
    This is beautiful. Poe-like and disturbing. I love this.
    Thanks, Oloriel, for sharing this transcendent poem with us. It is delightful to read.

  3. I have to echo the previous comments, Oloriel. My comments seem inadequate & I can never really articulate how much awe I have for your talent and depth. Your imagery and thoughts are so unique and lasting – your poems live inside recesses of my brain and soul. You and Yves, actually.
    Love x

  4. I have to echo the previous comments I cannot articulate how amazing your poetry is, how in awe I am of your lines, that flow effortlessly, sometimes it takes a few reads for it to absorb, but I get there in the end…I think. Excellent Oloriel x

    • Thank you! Like I say to everyone else, when I write about these dark longing, I do wish your life and soul are and be enriched by something far more beautiful.

  5. Wow this is one of my favorites loved it!

  6. tek sad sam poceo da citam prevode, iskreno moram da se naviknem na taj “standard”! 😀 reci cu ti kakvi su utisci 🙂

  7. What a set of wonderful thoughts.. when nothing is enough.. those evenings.. and so much hardships—

    • Yes.. sometimes the only thing that can extinguish the enflamed borders between sanity and pure desperation is a glass of wine.
      Thank you very much for reading!

  8. Beautiful write – fellow spirit collector

  9. Reblogged this on nidasyed.

  10. the progression through this is almost surreal but it flows so you dont get lost….love your phrases like I am writing one hundred
    farewell notes inside the skirt of some smelly bar…ha….its just cool…it gets intense as well…cutting open your chest to eat everything inside…whew.

  11. It was haunting and daunting for me… yet I drowned my hands in the river of your words, because that seemed like the only right thing to do. 🙂
    Your words are like the ash of the sacred fire falling into patterns of pain and melancholy. Great craftsmanship.

  12. Mnogo ti je lep blog, vilo… I lepi tekstovi! 🙂

  13. I keep reading it over and over…I cant pick one part to be fav, I cant dissect it for that would be wrong…your words hit so hard…

Tell me something

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

Amethyst Review

New Writing Engaging with the Sacred

Anatolios Magazine

[ love letters to the light ]

Countdown To Classic

A World of Warcraft: Classic Podcast & Community

The Wedding of Ken and Sarah

Coming to you August 17th, 2019 via the Wonders of the Internet!

Robert Hilles

Poet and Novelist

Bruised Rose Blossoms

Poet. Starscraper. Song whisperer. Niño de las estrellas.

Pointless Overthinking

Understanding ourselves and the world we live in.



Writings of Aakriti Kuntal

Clandestine tales cling to these forlorn ankles.

A Reading Writer

I write because I read. I read because I write.

The Bullet <3 Winston Smith

Music to burn Rome to

Ink the Lavender Skies

A place for the poetic explosions from my mind.

Rambling 'Riter

Musings of an Aspiring Poet

Serpent Box

A Journey We Take Together

like mercury colliding...

...moments of unexpected clarity

non sequitur

acjc's writers

%d bloggers like this: