The train is making its own story.
Filling itself with characters,
But never trapping them.
Sometimes they come back,
Some of them leaves forever,
And some of them never reaches the station.

The train is making its own story,
It is linear, never in medias res.
It is on repeat, never stopping.
The story today is you,
Don’t hop off the train.

Swirling keen-ons
On my obstinate heart.

I was born a daydream.
Lovable,
But disappearing with the stars.

I was sitting on the bed;
This alcoholic breath grabbed me,
Rushed through my presence, then
Lovingly abused me into addiction
Of lies
Of You
Of metaphors of life.

This life accused me.
I didn’t answer,
Because under my skin;
I found Anima Mundi.

They abuse me,
The thoughts of mine;
Those tiny words,
Became an endless pain.