You, To Whom

May 17, 2015 § Leave a comment

Creeping through the leaves,
Playing with a rough breeze.
Similar subtle ray of sunlight,
Finding slow death at night.

That was the story of ours,
I could rhyme it for hours.
Though it cracks me open,
I tend to tale it quite often.

To strangers I swear it’s accidental.
To friends I claim it’s monumental.
But how we met was ordinary,
A coffee, a joint and a life story.

You bragged about your travels,
Had enough to say for novels.
I was easily impressed,
You were under-dressed.

My hair was messy and blue,
You were crazy wrong but true.
“Not enough to lose” you’d say,
Convincing enough for me to play.

The perfectly decorated sanctuary,
Nothing to regret but missionary.
Matters not who’s beneath,
Only who’s kept their teeth.

To see your face behind the smoke,
Took skills that you ruthlessly broke.
Looking back, I admit I didn’t mind,
I find that later, I could rewind.

I shouldn’t blame you for spoiling,
What you carelessly found boiling.
I can not tell you not to bate,
What only you could create.

Shallow

May 5, 2014 § 1 Comment

 

By Raouia Boularbah

By Raouia Boularbah

 

 

Much obliged to now confess
Thought I was your princess
It’s just the usual incest
Forgetting we are insects
This is not a test
I’m the right pest
Do you truly detest?
Are you impressed?
Wear your survival vest
Feels like snow in Budapest
But you insist
To be the priest
Am I missed?
Absence is bliss
But how triste
Like a dance at the Ritz
So triste
Like lonely tits
So triste
Like a cunt and a fist
We match like creeps
It hurts but it keeps
How bad he treats
The clit he eats
Finds what he seeks
In the ocean and deeps
But I called dibs
On the whisky he sips
On the words he spits
The bruised gentle hips
They marry your lips
Inside me he fits.
He fits.
Inside me he sits.
He fits.

 

Ghizlane Radi

 

Nightmares II – Marathon

May 2, 2014 § Leave a comment

 

Blue Run

I’m naked as the day I was born and the day I’ll be buried. It’s cold as the hole I’ll be buried in. I’m on the top of Tangier’s Kasbah, at the steps of Bab Bhar. I have a sight over the sea and on the broken walls of a once luxurious past. My nipples could cut glass. Even my pubic hair is shivering. I can see waves wilder than the wind fucking my back and flowing in my hair so strong it takes it off. So I run, bald, barefoot, on the mountain streets of the Kasbah. Shameful Race. Not a single walking soul but cats. I don’t know what I’m running from I know it’s something frightening. It starts raining but, it’s not water pouring; it’s valium. It pours so raw it bruises my naked corpse. I attempt to find shelter though every roof I stand under collapses immediately. The pills dig holes on my pale skin. I start to cry and never stop.

 

Safety Quest

I’m toothless, it’s a recent secret. I try to hide it from as many as possible. I’m ugly as a bitch. I hide my jaw in my scarf but it tears open. I hide it in the palm of my hand. I’m wandering down Si Salem to reach my grandmother’s house. Every passenger greeting me faces a denying scared frown. I run but my speed doesn’t increase. The green wood door is so close, I can see it, I can’t reach it, I can smell the scent of the house. The people, all the fucking people trying to talk to me. I shout but no sound comes out. I run but I’m only pushed backwards. The green door opens and smoke comes out, or fog. Too much of it, I can’t see no more. The frustration and fear form a unbeatable duet. My lungs are breaking. All efforts to run are immediately suppressed by some unknown force pulling me, swallowing my movements and sounds. It feels a whole lot like someone is after me, it could be any one of all these curious morons around me.

 

Ghizlane Radi

 

Nightmares I – Realism

April 24, 2014 § Leave a comment

I lately discovered my nightmares could make a good Tim Burton movie. Unfortunately, I haven’t been able to get in touch with him. The next best thing is a blog post, I figured. So far I have three parts of what hopefully will be a nightmares series: Realism, Races, Gore. I’m starting with the Realism as not to be locked in an asylum anytime soon. All of these really, absolutely, unedited-ly have occurred in my sleep. I am not specifically interested in your amateur psychoanalysis, save that breath for telling me if this should indeed be a series or not.

Free Fall

Etta James’ record was playing on an antic radio. I wore a silk polka dot dress and slow danced on the roof, a warm night. He stood behind me, smoking a spliff, watching me. As I’d Rather Go Blind started to play. I stopped dancing, I was paralyzed by rage, jealousy, dark thoughts. I walk towards him confidently. I take his lighter. Burn his fingers, one by one. He doesn’t move, doesn’t scream but I can feel him hurting. I slice his lips open with my nail. Blood shoots me in the face. I push him from the edge. I look at him fall, it seems like an eternity. The same nonchalant permanent expression on his face, looking me dead in the eyes as he’s pulled down to the ground. He never collapses though, we just stare at each other forever.

 

Stress

I’m stuck in an endless loop. It feels like a childhood memory. I’m in the front row of a terrifying spacious classroom. I only see the teacher’s back, he’s fat and tall, white coat and dusty black pants. The board is filled with minuscule scriblings, I can’t see them clearly. My heart is louder than an 808 drum, so loud it attracts the teacher’s attention. Still doesn’t face me, he shouts commanding me to read the board. I’m ashamed, embarrassed and scared. I can’t pronounce a word. He keeps asking me louder, each time. I piss my pants. My chair’s legs break. I’m sitting in my filth surrounded by mocking laughter. I look up to apologize and I see the scribbling coming out of the board, closer to me. I fall back and break my skull. Just as I stand up, it all happens again. Over and over.

 

Ghizlane Radi

From My Diaries

April 21, 2014 § Leave a comment

Do you sometimes wonder how I was when I was fifteen? Me neither. My last diary was kept on my computer. I found it. I was fifteen years old, I was a little insane I’m afraid.

“My first sip of vodka was weird. It reminded me of his saliva.”

“I felt like I didn’t share experiences, it would cancel their reality. I’m a liar but for my own good.”

“I definitely like booze more than coffee.”

“I don’t understand why weed isn’t legal, it makes me feel way better than my cold medicine.”

“I don’t think drugs are that bad. Apart from the fact that it kills people, which everything does, they just make you feel the way you should.”

“Honestly, I never really know what to wear.”

“I don’t like him, not even as a friend. I like the new things I try with him, I don’t know if that’s friendship”

“I don’t understand my life sometimes. I don’t know why I do the things I do.”

“I don’t know if the movies I watch resemble my life or if I’m unconsciously trying to resemble them. I feel brainwashed sometimes.”

“I discovered I can get high on my meds. I’m the happiest I’ve been this week.”

“Why should I apologize to God? He should apologize to me! He’s awful at his job!”

“I don’t like smoking cigarettes, I really like not smoking them even less.”

 

Ghizlane Radi

Almost Fun

April 17, 2014 § Leave a comment

Let’s do fast cars,
Let’s do acid bars;
Heal our scars,
On a trip to Mars.

I didn’t choose you company,
Can’t quite say it chose me,
It just sometimes show me,
Things I always want to see.

Some pills to get me high.
Some pills to get me down.
Some pills to get me by.
Some pills not to be found.

I die by the ticking of the clocks.
He was my trashiest dope.
I miss the savage way he fucks.
Pointless pain of hope.

I lately realized
Our weak lives;
Are based on lies.
Fear burns my thighs.

 

Ghizlane Radi

Laid

April 13, 2014 § Leave a comment

 

By Matt Lambert

By Matt Lambert

I always wondered how I could be so nostalgic,
of something I destroyed with my fucking hands.
It’s like I’m desperately in the pain of the homesick,
After I burned my beautiful house and its sands.
One thought keeps haunting me like dark magic,
A thought I swallow away but, on my way that bitch stands

Maybe seeing you one last time could have been enough.
Maybe your touch could have reminded me of my humanity.
Maybe the air your breathe means more than the smoke I puff.
A hope, a dream, a wish, a flesh consuming miserable possibility.
I give my best to the worst and my worst to the best, weird stuff.
You’re better off with a best, I’m worse off with a better insanity.

Discovering our forever unsatisfied needs of the early broken;
I was naive to promise you, together we could easily fix,
With the word they dare not say and poetry secretly spoken.
I remember the day we searched for diamonds within a wall of bricks.
I forgot to tell the golden bullet I shot into you was my token.
I forgot how I have lately taught my kisses to play evil tricks.

Ghizlane Radi

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