My dear, I cannot pretend to understand what you are feeling in this moment of loss. I can only try to imagine the depth of your pain. For there are some things in life we only truly understand once we have lived them ourselves.

These words are for you — and for anyone going through a difficult time right now.

I hope they can bring you a sense of comfort, even if only a little.

I BREATHE

A new day.
A new sun.
A heartbeat,
a quiet wink.
Cool air slipping into my lungs…

I breathe.

On sunny days,
on rainy days,

I breathe.

In the cold,
in the heat,
under tropical skies,

I breathe.

With good news,
in joy and triumph,

I breathe.

In disaster,
in defeat,
in disappointment,

I breathe.

Fortune smiles on me,
my plans unfold.
Health for me, my family, my friends.
A bit of luck in my bets.

I breathe.

In sickness,
in life’s low blows,
In bad luck,
in broken hopes,
When failure comes to collect,

I breathe.

Love leaves.
The heart breaks.
Grief pulls me into a dark abyss.
Tormenting memories.
A colorless life.

I breathe.

Death strikes,
and someone dear is gone.
In sadness,
in nostalgia,
in mourning,
When the past becomes a sharp pain,
When your absence drains the color from my life,

I breathe.

In the night,
in unconsciousness,
I breathe.

In new beginnings,
in passion,
I breathe.

When I am lost,
swallowed by confusion,
I breathe.

When I find myself again,
back on the right path,
I breathe.

To breathe is to hope.

In the exhale,
I let go.

In the inhale,
something new arrives.

Everything passes,
everything can change,
Like the air that comes and goes.

In the highs
and in the lows,

WE BREATHE.

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Author’s Note:
When I feel overwhelmed, at my lowest, I pause for a moment. I close my eyes and take a deep breath. Then I whisper to myself, “Je respire.”

And very often, I feel a quiet sense of resilience rising within me. It reminds me that I am alive — and that alone is already a good reason to be grateful, and to keep moving forward.

Mirror Question:
When everything becomes unstable, what do you naturally return to?

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With clarity,
The Mirror Room
Odel A.

When did you become my enemy?
You—
once my confidant,
my loyal friend.

I know it sounds strange to hear it.
You think I’m blaming you for nothing,
don’t you?

But you know me.
I’ve made many accusations in my life…
Yet never once have I lied to you.
You’ve witnessed all my failures,
every fall.

So let’s speak plainly now.
Your sins,
your detours,
your tricks,
your little conspiracies—

let’s talk about your betrayal.

I was the naïve one who followed you.
“Trust me,” you said.
“Listen to me.
Obey me.
I’ll show you the joys you seek.”

And she was beautiful—
rarely so.
Her smile…
I won’t even try to describe it…

My eyes,
my senses,
everything in me surrendered.
And I trusted you,
my dear adviser.

I listened.
I believed.
I let you lead.
I let you push me into foolishness.

I followed your impulses—
and for what?

To be thrown aside,
quietly,
like an outlaw no one wants.

And that…
was only the first time.

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Act II — The Elusive One

What mask were you wearing this time?
You vanished after your first disaster.
I imagine you came back more cunning,
and I was foolish enough to think you were finally off my back.

You know,
life felt lighter without you.
I felt good in my own skin.
Everything seemed simpler without your burdens.

I had learned the rules,
the mechanics of the game.
I was thriving.

And truth be told,
I didn’t miss you at all, old friend.

Endless parties,
nights soaked in noise and neon,
music, dancing,
small exchanges,
alcohol.
Practiced gestures,
a few well-placed words,
a golden hunt—
effortless victories with no protocol.

Nights without tomorrow,
intoxicating moments,
sweet pleasures,
sharp thrills,
whole evenings dissolving into joy.
Simple connections,
no expectations—

all of it was good, too.
Especially far from you.

You couldn’t handle it, could you? Old fox.
Seeing your puppet walk away,
finally free.

I didn’t notice your despair—
I was vigilant,
but blind.

And still, you found your moment to return like a king.

Like a lamb wandering into a den of wolves,
she walked in,
unaware of the danger.

I saw an easy target.
You saw your next move.
I played my finest performance at that moment.

A harsh defeat.
Complete.
Hard to swallow.

I should’ve noticed you feeding on my ego.
A soft poison—
you had already slipped under my skin.

I should have recognized your schemes,
seen through the quiet plots you were weaving.

And then your grip tightened,
silent
around
my throat.

Act III — The Invisible Pact

You’ve become a master of exaggeration.
You never learned how to control your own tension.

Oh, my poor ego—
perfect victim under pressure.
You little bastard…
you hid your intentions well.

How ignorant I was.
Or maybe just blind.
What a mistake to believe I had outrun you.
Your persistence—
impressive, really.

And I, foolish as ever, underestimated your audacity.

Your weakness made me an easy target.
I was playing a game I didn’t even know existed.
Like a disgraced soldier,
tricked by another’s spite—

seduction as revenge,
pointless and empty.

It became a brutal fight,
harder than I expected.
She was a worthy opponent,
a fortress well-defended.
She pushed me back with courage,
heart intact.

Low blows,
old wounds—
yet somehow,
a victory in the end.

Oh heart, you bastard—
don’t pretend you’re innocent.
You fed my ego,
quietly,
deliberately.

You didn’t plan for what came next,
did you?

My ego slipping out of control,
smothering everything.

If only… you were the only one at play.
If only…

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Act IV — The Final Mask

You thought you were the clever one from the start.
Ready to trick me,
to pull the strings however you pleased.

Smart, you?
Don’t make me laugh.

Your own foolishness betrays you.
So full of yourself—
yet you never saw it coming.

My ego, that little soldier of yours,
he twisted it all.

You had everything you wanted, finally.
And me—poor victim,
once again your puppet.

Its shadow,
dark and silent,
made you tremble…
how pathetic!

A whisper.
A dangerous imagination.
Doubt swelling,
creeping in—
an old poison resurfacing.

The ego,
that idiot,
fragile in the face of temptation.
Sliding off the rails,
surrendering to empty sensations.

Why didn’t you stop it, huh?
Miserable thing.

Were you that weak,
that cowardly,
incapable of acting?

Where was your cunning,
your usual sly desire?

Useless.

Who are you really?
Just a fable wearing a pulse?

Oh her…
gentle,
bright,
a small sun walking toward me.

Why didn’t you fight for her?
Tell me.
She didn’t deserve that—
such a cruel blow.
Deception,
a scene of horror,
a sin without equal.

You recognized too late the worst enemy you had.
You deserved the pain.

What were you so AFRAID of?

The lamenting,
the late regret
the tears—
All of it your doing.

Your ego forced me to drink that bitter cup.

And her leaving…
ah—
that was
the executioner
waking up.

Act V — The Judgment

It awakened—
the powerful jailer.
Judge,
jury,
executioner without end.

Burning cold,
an infernal weight no one sees.

The final weapon:
judgment without mercy.

You,
me,
the ego—
lined up as the accused.

Fear turning into joy,
a hungry demon
delighting in chaos,
feeding on the pain we made.

What a disaster.

All of us—
crows fooled by our own shadows.

The sentence was merciless.

Silence, once calm,
now screamed too loudly.

Music turned bland,
echoing with no essence.
Nothing can stop you—
you —my conscience.

Her face,
your banner.
Her memories,
your list of charges.
Her smile, flickering—
like a lighthouse gone dead.

Her presence…
oh God,
her presence—
pure damnation.

I accept it—
yes, I accept it.

The weight of emptiness,
the infernal solitude.
No taste left in anything,
everything dull.

I accept it,
but I hate the laws you preach.

If only…
ah yes…
your scepter.

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Act VI — The Cycle Reborn

Defeated, I withdrew into my fortress.
Solitude, my loyal companion.
You, heart locked away in meditation,
guarded by my relentless executioner.

The emptiness—
lighter with time.
Ironically, almost pleasant.
A brief reprieve, of course.

And,
my conscience drifting back to sleep.

Then it struck again,
suddenly.
Solitude growing greedy,
the void turning heavy.
That subtle, creeping need for attachment.

And you—my heart—
my unconscious accomplice.

An echo, but different this time.
No chase,
no game,
no hunt.

A search for authenticity instead,
unsettling and raw.

Until her.
Until this new threshold.

Had I known…

I would have
ignored you
this time.

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Act VII — The Last Temptation

I had locked you away well, hadn’t I?
We were tired—
emptied out.
Veterans of a past too heavy,
seeking nothing now but peace.

Empty encounters.
Beautiful women, yes—
charming,
kind,
good souls.
But conversations flat,
wearing too many faces.

Everyone with their own agenda.

Bad omen.

And then…
she arrived.

She vibrated differently.
She smiled differently.
She moved differently.
She did everything differently.

Of course, you fell at first sight.
And I—clear-headed—
forced to be the adult for us both.

She was perfection, embodied.
Even the way she looked at me—
unmatched.

My defenses fell one by one.
I felt you grin at each collapse.

And I admit it…
I believed too.
We both gave in,
without restraint.

Ah… if only—
if only—
we had known.

Act VIII — The Final Judgment

Life had regained its thousand colors again.
You, my heart,
a sublime field of flowers.
And I—the guardian—
hypnotized by the softness.

I should have known…
I saw too much meaning in it.

Everything felt right, didn’t it?
We believed so.
A beautiful life,
balanced,
shared.
Growing,
breathing success.

Peace,
respect—
happiness carefully cultivated.

And still, we weren’t blind.
Far from ego,
far from sin.

We remembered the lesson from last time.
But it wasn’t enough—
not against what was coming.

Another fear,
even as we seemed perfect.
Wise,
steady,
untouched by chaos.

So is it wrong,
really,
when everything is done right?

Fidelity—
willing, devoted,
almost a quiet servitude.

Tell me…
you—
tell me why.

Why did the carnage fall on me again?

Once more, I gave you the reins.
Look where it led us.

Our beloved—
in our bed with another man.

The same crime,
the same face as ours.
That moment when you let ego take the lead.
That innocent soul…
brutally cut down.

Karma perhaps—
what does it matter?

The eternal executioner,
whispering, present.
The sentence fell,
undeniable.

You—
shattered into a thousand pieces.

Me—
left with the scars.

Can you still claim…
innocence?

Act IX — The Final Word

Do you still think I’m blaming you for nothing?
How many times have you pushed me toward the fall?
I truly believed you wished me well.
I really thought you were my friend.

I’m tired—
can’t you feel it?
Tired of playing in your foolish games.

Honestly, I don’t understand you anymore.
I never knew you could be this cruel.

Why do you force me to stay
where I’m clearly not wanted?

Why do you push me to give myself
to someone who doesn’t want you either?

Do you love suffering that much?

They shove you away,
yet you refuse to leave.

They humiliate you,
and you climb back on the scaffold.

How can you be so foolish?

There are moments when I hate you,
you know.

You play innocent,
you drag me down.
Manipulation,
betrayal—

what do you have to say for yourself?

Old stubborn fool.
Clumsy,
confused,
unaware.
My enemy…
my old friend—

when did we start misunderstanding each other?

Maybe—
just maybe…

Ah, if life…

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Act X — What If…

Wait—
hold on a moment.

Come closer,
come here.

Let’s forget the mistakes and talk,
shall we?
About us,
about life,
about the hard truths.

You were wrong,
and so was I.

I blamed you,
caged you,
neglected you.

But tell me—
what else could I have done?

We were misunderstood,
wounded,
drifting apart.

Our fight?
Useless,
pure ignorance.

Here’s the harsh reality:

I breathe because you live.
If you die,
there’s nothing left—
no echo.

Maybe now,
it’s time we stop fighting for control.
Me, the rational one;
you, the reckless one.

Ego, fear—this division?
To the slaughterhouse.

Imagine—
truly imagine.
A quiet joy,
a rebellious peace.

You and me together;
unshakable.

Hunters,
not preys.

Oh my heart,
walk with me.
My heart,
don’t move without me.

Together, strong—
we are the crown.
Let love bow to our laws.

Not me without you…

and you

with me.

Author’s Note:

“The heart has its reasons that reason itself does not know.”
This line has grown with me. At one point, it fascinated me. Then, I began to truly resent it. There came a time when it felt like my heart had stopped being my ally— and had become my opponent instead.

So I started to wonder… If I could sit across from my own heart, what would I honestly say to it?

These poems are a few of those answers. They are shaped from my experiences, but also from imagination and observation— a movement from chaos toward peace.

And you— if you could sit down and speak openly, directly to your own heart what would you say?

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With clarity,
The Mirror Room
Odel A.

talking like a broken parrot,
about nothing,
about everything,
just rambling,

truths,
absurd ideas,
things that don’t even exist,
empty thoughts,
twisted realities,

like I’ve got some unstoppable engine,
endless energy.

Let me be crazy, just for a bit,

walking,
dancing,
to songs playing in my head,
inside,
outside,

singing like I don’t care,
like no one’s around,
like I’m alone in my own tower,
ignoring the looks,
the judgment.

Let me be crazy, honestly,

laughing at my own nonsense,
my thoughts pulling a grin out of me,
getting excited over an idea,
a solution,
a plan that finally makes sense,

laughing alone,
but laughing for real,
quietly,
almost sneaky.

Let me be crazy, maybe,

talking to myself,
having real conversations actually,
seriously,
deeply,

taking the time to see myself,
to hear myself,
to understand,
to come back to myself.

Let me be crazy, for once,

pushing limits,
questioning what’s “normal,”
challenging accepted truths,
daring to take a different path,

questioning
what I was handed,
all that “wisdom” placed too high.

Let me be crazy, even stupid,

owning my flaws openly,
being a real dumbass sometimes,
not good,
not bad,

just following my own illusions,
not rejecting what’s said about me,
but not bowing to it either,
being weird,
maybe even a bastard.

Let me be crazy, completely,
just to tell you, straight up,
I’ve never needed your goddam permission
to live freely:

My madness,
my passions,
my gaps,
my strengths,
my weirdness,
my taste,
my stupid shit.

Just let me be crazy.
A temporary fool,
or a permanent madman.

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Author’s Note

It was actually fun to write this poem. I think I was at work, and like usual, I had started repeating random, nonsensical words to myself. There was also this coworker who doesn’t dare to do certain things when other people are around. He often told me he couldn’t be like me, as comfortable as I seem to be. And I always tell him that he could — if he finds the courage to be comfortable being considered as weird, or even crazy.

Let Me Be Crazy is a poem about owning that freedom — an identity fully lived, beyond the need or the fear for other people’s approval.

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you can always

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With clarity,
The Mirror Room
Odel A.

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The void of the night,
The void of my life,
The void in my mind,
The void in the noise,

A silent noise.

My heart beats — but anxious,
Sleep escapes my eyes,
Like the coward flees the dangerous,

My life, an echo in the void,
A hollow, greedy vastness,
My life, a path full of hollows,
Settling like a pool of still water.

Days are easy,
Nights are heavy,

By day, the masks hold,
By night, the pain is mine.

Day absorbs the void in noise,
Night — the noise of my mind
Pulls me into its well,

Oh the void…
Oh the night…

Not to think about it,
Easy to say,
Not to worry,
Easy to pretend,

Sweet illusion,
Sweet prison,

Hard is liberation,
Hard is liberation,

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Act II

The void absorbs everything,
Like a mad omnivore,
It is a mad omnivore,
Yet by day, emptied of everything,

Flavors,
Colors,
Scents,
Harmonies,
Madness,
Modesty,
Pleasures,

Even pain — sometimes —
Even fear,

Thoughts,
Intentions,
Infatuations,
Misunderstandings,
Pretenses,
Achievements,
Disappointments,
Defamations,
Pressures,
Aspirations,
Competitions,
Discussions,
Reconciliations,
Frustrations,
Devotions,
Exaltations,
Consolations,
Convictions…

The void absorbs everything.

Like a mad omnivore,
A mad omnivore—

And yet, it feeds everything.

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Act III

In this greedy void,
On my small yet spacious bed,
I close my eyes,

Welcoming the gentle touch
Of a faint beam of light
Within this darkened space,

The void is not silent.

It does not devour all.

I hear it—

A soft humming,
My laptop softly singing,
A quiet, soothing melody,

A slow tempo,
Fluid transitions without accent,
No sudden shifts,
Only gentle, enveloping sounds,

Refreshing,

Piano and flute whispering,
Nature joins the orchestra,
Birds calling, carefree,
Water flowing,

Hypnotic,

The wind—
Soft, and tender,

For a moment,

A welcoming forest,
A benevolent nature,
A lingering resonance,

Tranquility,

The void, satisfied,
Also soothed by this presence,
Retreating into its essence,

Sufficiency,

The void does not devour everything.

The void
does not
devour
everything.

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Author’s Note

There are nights when you feel nothing at all — completely empty. You can’t even find something to think about. It feels as though even sleep escapes you, leaving nothing behind but the void.

At first, this void strips you of everything, even the very sense of your own existence.

This poem was born from one of those nights, when there was nowhere left to hide. It became a way to understand that emptiness — something many people, perhaps everyone, experience without fully realizing it.

It also reflects what helped me find an anchor and slowly come back from that state of mind.

The void is not an enemy. It is a force — neither good nor bad.

A special dedication to .

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With clarity,
The Mirror Room
Odel A.

Ruined.

Beautiful on the outside,
like a rotten apple.

Freedom —
illusion and vanity.

Oh, little being…
ignorant,
carefree,
smiling.

Like a butterfly,
drifting
from flower to flower.

An adventurer
in the eyes of the world.

But inside…
bleeding.

Bare feet
in a field of thorns.

Like a patient under anesthesia,
draining of blood
without even knowing.

The pain was there,
but awareness
had not yet been born.

The wounds were many.
The roots,
deep.

Yes…
childhood was beautiful.
Restless.
Bright.

And yet —
already ruined.

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Adolescence

fixed nothing.

A rebellious mind,
a small outlaw.

Believing himself
grown,
wise,
powerful,
enough.

Defy the world.
Break the systems.

Conquer.
Acquire.
Accumulate.

A little more aware,
but already distorted.

Still ignorant,
drowning
in the blood
left by the child.

Momentum
after
momentum.

Then —
failure.

Crushing.

Reality —
unforgiving.

At fault?
Never.

Blame the others.
Them, the ignorant.
Them, the cruel.

But like a patient
slowly waking
from anesthesia,
the pain returns.

The wounds
rise again.

Sharp.
Consequential.
Unbearable.

And adolescence
fades away
like smoke.

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The fatigue of existence.

The adult is already lost.

Crushed
under weights
he does not even understand.

Forgotten pasts.

The child
bleeding out.

The adolescent
drowning in that blood.

And now —
the adult.

More direct.
More brutal.

Exhausted
by the hypocrisy of the world.

The pretenses.
The fox-like smiles.

Little by little,
rejected
by life,
by society.

Still trying
to spread
the damaged wings
of the adolescent.

To leap —
and fall.

To rise —
and fall again.

And again,
fall.

A heavy heart.
Empty.

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No direction.

Seeking refuge
in solitude,
while running
from that same solitude.

Wanting connection,
yet fearing attachment.

Rejected.
Despised.
Pushed away.

Until condemning oneself.

The rupture.

Sharp.
Humiliating.

It ties together
the burdens
of the child
and the adolescent.

Like a bridge
thrown
between two currents.

Chaos.
Indifference.
Rage.

Against everything.
Against oneself, most of all.

In isolation,
actions become conscious.

Repeated.
Calculated.

And slowly,
they turn
into behavior.

Amazement.
Curiosity.
Fascination.

I sat down,
alone, in the back,
watching the rat run.

Its patterns.
Its reactions.

Little by little —
understanding.

Then —
awareness.

Like waking up
from a long nightmare.

Like deciding
to live
for the first time.

The questions unfold:
identity,
love,
freedom,
faith,
relationships,
healing…

With only one tool:
a good instrument —
writing.

My results
do not come
from long studies.

They come
from observation,
exploration,
reflection,
confrontation,
experience.

Far from perfect.
Even less universal.

Because I am not an expert.

Only
an experiment.

And in the end,
I understand:

I am
the rat
in my laboratory.

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Author’s Note

This piece was written in reflection of my work. It is not expert writing. It is a point of view on a world that is universal.

Not a statement of absolute truth. What is written here is true to me. Authentic — but personal. Even when my writing touches subjects we all share, it remains shaped by my own experience.

I am the rat in my laboratory stands as a position. Not a figure of certainty. Just a man who has lived, observed, and chosen to express what he sees.

A vision that may be more universal than I am willing to admit.

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For deeper readings and structured insights,
you can support this work as a paid member.

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you can always

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With clarity,
The Mirror Room
Odel A.

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I wanted to be like everyone else—

to fit in, to adapt,
to stay within the lines.

But the crowd was suffocating.

Too much for me.

So this is what I became.

I never wanted to be the fool,

the buzzkill,
the asshole who thinks he knows it all
when I feel just as lost inside.

But someone has to take that role.

Someone has to ask
the questions that unsettle,

to say out loud
what we all live in silence—

what we don’t even know
how to name.

I never wanted to be different.

I’m not.

Just an extension of life,
one side of the coin.

I never wanted to expose my life,

my past,
my wounds.

I hate talking about myself.

Who really cares
about the life of an old fool?

I never wanted to tell my story.
I don’t like it.
But a sense of duty pushed me into it—

my arrogance,
a veil over my devotion:

clarity.

But who am I
to claim I can guide others
when my own path is still unclear?

My life isn’t a show.

Not interesting enough for that.

If I speak about it,
it’s only
because it’s the only one I know.

Of course, you might call it arrogance.

But,

if my life bothers you,

maybe it feels
like I’m telling yours.

Maybe you recognized yourself.
Maybe you caught a glimpse
in the mirror.

I’m probably rambling.

Maybe I’m losing it.

I never wanted to be the fool,

But I accept it.

With joy.

And faith

in you.

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Welcome to THE LAB ROOM,

a space where I write from the inside.

Here, I will share my poems shaped by observation—
by life, sometimes intimate, sometimes uncertain.

May you see a little bit of yourself, in these mirrors !

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For deeper readings and structured insights,
you can support this work as a paid member.

And if you simply wish to encourage the journey—
you can always

buy me a mirror.

With clarity,
The Mirror Room
Odel A.

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