empty, inside and out

my heart is dead
but still beating
that’s why I’m not alive
but still living

a cold shell
with no substance
a sort of matter
of nothingness

with holy loneliness
for only company
I’m trying to survive
in the shadow of feeling

you can nod your head
and pretend you understand
but you just read the cover
of a book that’s already over

pre-scriptum:

pre-scriptum:
whoever you are,
you are part of this story.

once upon a time,
men fell in love with women,
these same men
then lived sad
and,
unfortunately,
died sad.

families,
friends
and colleagues
came to their funerals
and put flowers down
on their graves
and then put
a consoling arm
around the murderers’
shoulder.

few attempted murders later,
some of these women will,
eventually,
be stopped
in their killing spree
by a God who,
from atop of his realm,
was attentively observing them.

I never cried in front of you

I never cried in front of you
but now my soul misses
all the beautiul tears
that could have fell for you

why did God take you
and left so many out there?
I wish we were doing things
somewhere we always wanted to be

six feet under
I wonder if you can see
the bottle here and your glass there
my words here, you and I there

life is now a dream
without you in it
a regretful nightmare
with the wake up missing

a whore tale

a hoe tells
loads of lies
in a hotel
and goes
on and on
about how low
her competition is
and blows
in cold tears
shouting about
her bonafide love
and vows
to be yours
for as far as
love can go.

once her story is told
she goes on and on about
how sad she feels
and now tells you
how tall
the mountain is
between her love
and what the situation
really is.

believe her,
please.

hehe.

do not breath parks’ oxygen, it is only for the very old

in Central Park
whitened
by the snow
and darkened
by its visitors’ sorrow
who talk, talk,
talk even more
and talk too much
to say too less:

one affirms that
mutual love can’t be
eternal,
what if mine
never started?

a bum,
better covered
than the most of us,
shouts that it’s cloudy
here in New York,
but the only cloud I see
is above me…

a woman,
too old to be allowed to live
too used to breathe new borns’ oxygen
and too close to death to walk straight
so,
what is left from that woman
taught me
how much I should enjoy life
with its surprises,
journeys
and encounters
to forget that I do not want to
turn into an almost-human being.