ndo avro finito io perche non tu(J.F.K)
Everyone look!
Leave me alone in the tender bath of reminiscences, in the night and the silver of the moon that soothes hair of unknown women. Let me kick dreams and amputate faith. Mistakes, sins, wrongs…
Loosing love! A lil wrinkle shows up under the eyes, when causes do not exist. I would like to strangle the sky, hold my breath onto the pillow where “he” once rested his head. Pieces of an imaginary world. Storms that whirlpool in my room, the fascinated looks of your reminiscences.
I was going to write you a song. An unbelievable song, an unheard song, a big song, with great lights that turn on and off and runaway lies. White sheets, white doors, faces… God I hate white!
(I’m not telling the song)
In the very end, the eyes of the city cried as I kept on talking about you. I do not know if it was happiness, or pain, or sadness, being repeated in a vicious monotonous circle, or replicating the same story over and over again, gave this feeling the word LOVE. I still feel it with me, when the rain touches upon the skin, when I feel the sent of a melancholic autumn day. In the corridors forgotten jealousies, black spots of unrealized love run wild. The great chest of pessimism, the wonders of incurable memories, the inhuman conditions of leaving. All of them, all in you. Dreaming of breathing instead of being a tear in an April table.
I do not have you anymore…or I never had you. No more illusions, no more altars of promises left in vain, words of silence…
I am left without you, without what I wanted, without what I dreamed, without what I had… My head bangs on the beat. A rush of screams under the wind jerks the road that brings me toward you. I am brittle as the hands of a baby, like the transparent of the eternal “unpossession”, like the darkness of a full moon.
Now my scared life is grasped on reminiscences of the unnamed, my involuntary deeds sum up in writing some letters, till the day the rainbow will shine in the Sahara.
I dared. I jumped. I fell. My body broke in pain, gabs hanged under my eyes, clouds where I lay untouched. Tears that escape, weird eyes that offer melodies of an angel. I am waiting to fall in love with a false love, which can take this frown for long stamped in my face and turn it into unending smile. But there is no false love. There is no true love either. There is an infinite time of search, connection of words like these that do not mean anything, but see to be unbelievably beautiful.
Copying this work to another webpage without author permission is plagiarism.
Plagiarism is a misdemeanor, usually punishable by fines of $100-$50000 and up to one year in jail.
Comments on Memoirs of a psychopath 1