I See Red
by K. Zakrevski (blog pseudonym)
Photography & Poetry Samples
Published on June 2016
WHO I SEE I wonder what it's like to stand before a mirror and not be taken aback by what I see I wonder what it's like to be completely free of my own skin Perhaps I am too human Perhaps I am that weak I wonder if it's possible to glance into the mirror and fall in love with every inch Perhaps... Perhaps, it could be 
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Profanity was never my intention
I believe in God I love my God But I have been told that I'll never be loved in return How am I to cope? I cry too, you know? I pray I do So why can't He love me As much as He loves you? 
07/08/2014
The thing is that I’m tired of lying on my bed as the clock ticks away and the wind blows in from the outside promising me that it’s just for one day but then the light of the sun dims down and my scars come out once again and the hollow in my chest itches and aches and the swelling in my veins won’t let me forget that I’m alone in my bed and the clock ticks away and I hold on to the pillow I embrace it as if it were to reassure me of something… of a stolen pledge. But the window’s still open and in my room there’s no light and the whispers hang in the air as if to irk me and pester as if to urge a vaccine but I refuse to listen for I know the echo too well; I have memorized its cry, the script it recites tattooed onto my back. And I’m lying on my bed still clutching to the pillow and my head feels heavy and my eyes are swollen with the same expression as before with the same emptiness as before and the clock ticks away. My mind won’t turn off the switch has been broken as has been broken the beat and my lungs keep on going as I await for the right moment to stand up and let go, but I’ve waited for too long. Now, as the clock ticks away, I’m afraid that the moment I’m afraid that the promise have many times come and gone. |
MOAN
there exists no bloodless love, that is why the organ of the heart is romanticized, it's full of fervor and scarlet and vigor and savor and its silky blood or its clotted blood or its cold blooded blood fill it whole, but there is blood and people are afraid of blood, people are afraid of love, they are afraid to hurt, when hurt can be pleasurable and sweet, and without hurt, without blood, there's no feel, and what is love without feel, without blood, without hurt, without warmth, without a messy stain on our skin, on our palms, on our palms, on our tongue, down our throat, on our lungs, on your lips we share a look in the eyes, there is taste, there is feel blood is splurged when it comes to matters of love, we must not wipe it off, blood comes and it's lovely, and thank god there is blood, and thank god for our love, thank god for this hurt, thank god for the blood and the hurt that make love, we make love, and it's sweaty and it's warm and it's good and it feels, let me breathe, breathe you in, with your blood, fell it pump, and your chest, oh it hurts, I can feel, make me feel, let it hurt, let it burn, let it soothe, let it stay, go on go on go on, you, it feels good, it's all good, all this love making, blood boiling, breath taking, hurt grasping, tongue biting, sweet piercing cum. love is good. yes, bloody is good. let it, let it pour, let it sting, calm and breathe, let me taste, try your lips, let me lick you clean, let me feel. let if flow. let me take. let me touch. let me love. you. I can see. you. you are love. love is good.
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We spoke of instances to be
Enjoyed in between kisses and Soft embraces, promised Nothing, expected Nothing. Though now we linger in an Inconformity where trust Is the anchor and Storm. It was your eyes that held on To me, a Look ever so pleading for Comfort, for Help. . . Reflecting my own tears. It was your eyes, not Your skin, not Your lips, Your omission of Words. The imperfection that Enthralled, none of it, But your eyes. Even now we speak In silence, You cover your face, But I know what rests Behind those walls, For I hide it just as well. I see pain. |
*All photography in this website was taken by Jesús López unless stated otherwise*
(c)opyright Jesús López 2018
