's cold the skin without the arch of his warm embrace,
is dead skin.
I get used to the idea and I die every night.
Oh, the fantasies are icy daggers that pierce the night,
sleep, nightmares, silence ... the life and words, words
, soothe ...
Words ... Red Cross is that soothe the absence of pain.
soul bare, and so I offer it to the world and solitude
magnanimous smiles at me ...
The mouth is hiding like a frightened puppy.
The mouth, the mouth ... a time ...
a time not too far belonged to me ...
but now has grown and can no longer recognize.
Oh, repressing anger makes fun of me ...
even anger offends me! What a joke!
Everybody, everybody dreams of love.
Ah, for many it is a shade of deep red, red blood
that are difficult to grasp leaves ...
Oh, like butterflies in flight and escape via
no network ever comes in providential rescue!
Who has courage to realize the words?
How many have the courage to take risks, to play this game?
To try to say live and real and honest and courageous human
after all ... how many?
Oh, I'm afraid to answer this question ...
but the heart knows, and knows the heart bleeds ...
too dead, now dead to hope to become healthy ... Nor
Red Cross knows how to treat words, even
... no ...
May 2008
(not a real poem, but a collection of thoughts and considerations ...)
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