abestos

So what if nobody aware?,
what if everything seems
perfect and asphyxiating?;
what if I go out to the street shouting you hate me?,
what if I choke chewing my own arm?,
what if I lie?, what could I loose if I lie?.
(Night unbuttons her coulds
to spit all over...)
what if nobody tell me where are you?
what if everyone point at me with strangeness?
what if I fall, and don't feel like rise?.
In the stertor of the emptiness
I just was conforming with sleep,
I could bet my own roof
to that tomorrow won't rain,
but I understood I'm not able to change
the colors of the bridges,
neither tickling my sons
to revive their corpses;
It seems I'm back to feel happy
being listened
sometimes
for any of my eight walls.
Never the silent was that slimy,
nor the art that far,
nor the water that salted,
nor the food that noisy,
nor the voice that rotten...
I still have five finguers left
in my rigth hand.

DRUIDA30