Sunday, September 1, 2019




Silence is  killing you right?
That is not what you are used to.
You can not be saved.
You expect me to hate you.
I will never offer tears to you.
You have complains about this silence?
Did you expect more pain?
I'm not going  back for talks.
It is a crime scene for me.
I do not open a box of wounds.
Assembled, I keep it stored in one corner.
From the top, you touched the bottom yourself.
Your soul is fake and translucent.
It's not the same that I wanted to complete me.
You're looking for the way, looking for crumbs to go back ...
Even if you crawl, you still won't be good enough for me.


I wish I could release  a tear.
Please cry,  show it.
You will be alone.
They left ...
At least a gram.
At least a bit.
To know that you still have.
Surely you can.
To  know that you're alive.
To  feel something smoldering.
There is something inside.
Some miniature emotion.
That there is, reassure.

The Missing.
The Distance.
Not seeing.
There is no closeness.
They are yours, you love them.
you have no one else.
You own them.
They own you too.
There is no end.
But there is void ...


I still feel you next to me.
Your presence makes me happy.
I still see you beside me.
I am convincing myself that you are here.
Your hands make me strong.
I assure myself you will come back.
I'm doing everything  today to be yesterday.
So you and I can be,
Again, untouchable.

I still feel you hold my hand.
I interrupt the moment,
It's hard for me to believe.
How to press stop?
How to turn back time?
My face is lost in your hands.
Tears in the eyes. I cannot hold them.
"You were supposed to be my everything"
Just made me believe...
Just unquestionably convince me
that your skin and my skin can stop the time.


Weakened blows in emptiness.
Damned phrases in deafness .
It's all the same.
You're falling into a quicksand -
pulls you down.
there's nothing to catch.
You try to save yourself,
yet you are all covered.
hugs and
fingers intertwined.

You wish to get it all back.
You could but you are not allowed.
You want to have that all again.
You could but  it's impossible.

Only dreaming helps.
Only  dream is the best friend.
Who would stop you?
Only there you are unstoppable.


And so damn far away.
I can even feel your smell.
But, no.
It's the linden.
It is you.
I did not forget you.

Painful thoughts.
False words.
They are like knives.

Many untruths,
Hard to stand them.

If this was a bullet wound,
sooner or later,
it would pass.
If the time was a doctor.
by now it would heal.

Like this only sediment is collected.
Black as the heart,
empty as the soul.


MILICA PAUNOVSKA is a graduated Economist from North Macedonia who works in transport and logistics but is writing poems in the last 13 years. She has her first  book ready to be published this summer and another by the end of the year. She is a writer by day, pouring her heart on a paper and reader by night, fulfilling the emptiness.For her poems she loves to say that this is not deja-vu poetry, that this is part of her soul and her life.

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