aleksandar stoicovici

the brain feels like a huge magnet stuck between two loaded guns it\'s a beautiful morning and the world will tear apart what\'s left of you believe in this golden reel more than I

I close the door and I expect for someone to turn off the light I\'m far away from all your dreams and I\'m loosing my battles when hope carries no more the ammunition of war your heart is an

like a fingerprint of fog on your skin I lay on the orange field. The stoned hour lights my bones to find out where I have been I’m melting, my heart is becoming your favourite colour like the

crucified in my palms the raven is praying the fingers bear his fear in his joints the blood-birds disown him smiting him in a heartbeat across his clavicle lost among tracks minutely

it\'s raining against the sky the clouds in my soles are crucifying me awaiting for salvation

the first memory about myself my earliest memory of God and the last but one recollection of light is reduced to an invisible point which dwells in a hollow with orange walls and two small

there were a few long wooden days when I used to live secluded in a room with glass walls worn away beyond the sea\'s heel sometimes a near-sighted angel winked at me I had met him once when I had

time is just a prolongation of everything we are I think that seconds are what we usually call bits of lightning so that my eye of seconds is named thunder of lookings