You hit me
with news that squeak
like rats. Escaping.
I eye each one of them,
fighting the instinct of an inner cat
inside me.
I can’t.
I just can’t chase
every word you throw at me –
there’s too many of them
for one little me.

I’ve been given a choice
that wasn’t one after all,
so I escape too –
like the colour from a rosebud.
I know I have to leave
and drain all presence of me
into the river that’s
you –
been poisoned with other colours already,
and no matter how vivid they once were,
they are dirty brown

But I’m staying pure.
An antonym of this messy situation.
I’m done,
leaving you to lick your guilt
sparkling clean

– Chatty Owl –



Lost in your own thoughts, you were painting in a dimmed room. Clothes, covered in a rainbow of colours – tiny dots of evidence of how you transform your vision onto canvas.

You didn’t hear me enter the room. I watched you for a while, patiently waiting for you to turn around. To acknowledge me.

Grubby hands, the roughness of your fingers and the dried out paint. You grabbed me by my neck and harshly pinned me against the wall, lifting me up off the floor a little. Pure fire in both of our eyes.

I have never been kissed before. Like THIS.

– Chatty Owl –


Thirteen times loved,
I turn to face the wall,
so I wouldn’t need to witness
yet another one
falling head over heels
in love with

Those carefully chosen slivers
of my life
were always purposely placed
at all the right places –
a clever subliminal advertisement,
affecting your human nature –
involuntary curiosity.

I’m not a mind reader, baby.
I’m just observant.

I flooded your life
with mysterious attention
I wove bits of love
around your antsy fingers,
every time our hands touched.
Again and again,
until the weight of yearning
and all this unexplainable desire
was way too difficult to handle.

I let go,
taking the warmth of my hand
with me.
You broke.
And like a vulture,
I devoured all of you into nothingness.

– Chatty Owl –


Voice version of the poem

I push your hugs away from me –
the warmth evaporates
into the cold mist of gloomy London,
and that’s what makes this city
so beautiful –
an expired love of forgotten craving.

It’s a factory of pleasure.

I stop clocks
and slowly break the time in half
before it breaks
into a million pieces of (un)reserved
seconds for you.
They drip
and gallop at a pace of my falling tears.

That are not even real.

I transform myself
from one bird into another,
disguising my feathers
under camouflaged colours of attraction.

I know you want to pick me up
and take me home.
Oh baby,
I’m not that domestic.

– Chatty Owl –


I said,
we need to exchange words,
like we used to exchange fluids.
I want to kiss you
with a mouthful of sentences,
because that’s the only way
for you to digest them.
I’ll throw up words,
as you play with my mind,
as our bodies play with each other,
and it will be such a beautiful ending
to this party.
I should pinch your skin,
so you would know, you’re not dreaming,
and make you a promise,
that you won’t wake up
tomorrow morning,
that I was just another imaginary lover
in your head.
I will be as real,
as those kisses I’m giving you now.

We need to exchange words,
I say again,
because you know what?
Our conversations are nothing
but a pile of monologues,
that get distorted as we breathe on them,
(as if attempting to warm them up
and make the situation better).

We need to talk.
And don’t worry,
my coldness is not contagious.
But it’s certainly not easily lived with.

– Chatty Owl –


I carefully pick lighthearted words
to make them drift gently,
like a transparent smoke,
where they sound all muffled
and less conspicuous.

(Unlike my feelings at the moment,
weighing heavily
in the murk of a gloomy night).

I want to fall
into this darkness of my own nightmare,
so I could chase my own footsteps
and remember the day,
when I first felt your importance
in this world.
You wore a cloak
of unapproachable air about you,
that I couldn’t stop breathing in
and out –
knowing my not-so-obedient nature.
I watched your lips move,
inventing all inaudible sounds,
that got my mind thinking
of cherry blossom trees
and maple syrup sweetness.
I stooped as low
as my pride would allow me,
but that made no difference
to how you saw me –
in awe with you.
I turned your life around,
and it reminded you
of that first flush of morning,
when I told you, that
kidnapping hearts is what I do best.
I preserve them
in faded envelopes
and empty mason jars,
making sure
I never let them beat again.
Some things are better bottled up
and hidden away
in a locked up cupboard
of secret things.

– Chatty Owl –


Your absence is not an empty room.
it’s an all-filling feeling
of total devastation.
With you gone,
so is my ability to sleep.
You ripped my heart out
and made my lungs empty of air.
I watched myself fade,
when I sat in front of the mirror,
and I couldn’t decide,
if I’m just evaporating into thin air,
or are tiny particles of me
flying around the world,
looking for you.
You left,
and took away all my strength
that I possessed.
You left me with one thing only –
that longing feeling,
that made my chest tight,
eyes dry,
and my life empty.
I miss you,

– Chatty Owl –


continue stating
that you’ve forgotten about me.
I like knowing
that I’ve faded out of your mind.
It eases my guilt
and gives me a chance
to be a total stranger to you.
I wanted you to forget my face
and my voice,
so I could use mind tricks
and seduce you again.

– Chatty Owl –


My words end
on the tip of your tongue
as I try to squeeze the moment
for the last kiss
that you clearly didn’t want.
You chased me
to make me chase you back,
yet your eyes started wandering somewhere else
as a result.
That awkward moment,
when my hands wanted to touch you
and I knew you would regret
me doing so,
that’s why I had to tame my urge
to have you,
hidden under layers and layers
of winter clothing,
as a reminder to myself
that it’s the only heat I’m getting
right now.
You evoked a fire in me
that died with the wetness of
the tip of your tongue.
Just a tiny touch
was enough to make me

– Chatty Owl –



I can’t stop
thinking about your words,
asking me to watch the mirror,
as it reflects my own image.
I want to wear
that one thing,
that you like the most –
my devotion.
Nipples, erect.
Soft skin, that I’m touching
as instructed.
Your words guide my hands
to please your mind
via my body.
You know what I want
way better than I do,
and that’s why I’m losing sleep
over the urge
to never stop thinking
about you.

– Chatty Owl –

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