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.

I was laying behind my eyes.

First, I took my brain,
So I would stop the thoughts.
Second, I shut my mouth ,
So I wouldn’t cry for help.
Third, I cut my stomach,
So I would starve my death.
Fourth, I broke my legs,
So I wouldn’t run away.
Fifth, I freed my hands,
So I would keep my soul.
Sixth, I poked my eyes,
So I wouldn’t see the death of me.

I was flying above my head.

There’s a space between
My body and my soul.
I wait there,
For a sign
To know, to realise, to feel
Which one I am.
Before you ask,
I’m sure I cannot be both!

I have never understood my body.
It is a strange flash
That sits around my thoughts,
Quietly. Sometimes in pain and
Sometimes in fear, or happiness;
My brain decides,
That cruel hole of cells.
I look into the mirror;
There’s my body, someone’s body, a weird object in a reflection.
The mouth screams,
And my soul wants to crawl out;
To fly away,
To be endless again.
My body never felt familiar.
I look at the hands, the feet, that brown hair, those *******
And I think:
“To whom do they belong to??”
The eyes are in shock.
With that heavy question mark
My soul escaped.

There were angels in the street,
Standing by the dead cat.
One was grieving
And the other raised its head,
The red sky opened,
And the faceless angels
Left with the cat.
I stayed there, in-between
Death and rebirth on my hand.

The words
The words,
Lying diverse…

I don’t know what I am;
There’s a bluebird in my heart,
Chirping
With its beak stuck into my soul.
Tomorrow it sets free,
With the heavy weight of my life.

I wish this war was on drugs
And peace would fall from the sky.
I wish this love is not a sufferer,
And we would understand the Now.
I wish this Life can be an ocean
And they could move with the Moon.

I am a lost poem,
The kind which never got the fame.
I am sitting in the drawer,
And sometimes she comes,
Lifting up my letters to her heart.
Those running tears, shaking hand
Understand my feelings.
But that sudden overwhelm of Hers,
Sends me back
To that small corner of life.

Finally I am awake,
No more passings-by.
Finally I remember,
No more faded shapes.
Finally I can feel,
No more shallow blinks.
Finally I am here,
No more losing grips.
There is no closure to these lines,
Today it started, the existence of mine.

The crawling angel of your eyes
Is a staggering thought to my soul.

Let me fall through these walls
Into my own existence.
Don’t pull me back,
I want to crash into my soul!

The animals came, with
The wolf behind
They took me into the sunset, with
The Lights above;
The Sun descended to me, with
Its rays into my eye, and
That’s how I became that night
An autumn lie.

Sometimes I am thousands of characters
In a long lost book,
Sometimes I am that heavy smell
On a newly printed page, and
Sometimes I am just the effort
In the ink, flowing on your thumb.

And I thought I could be someone else,
But the Beasts huddled, and
I could see my parents
In that hunting glass of whiskey.

He seemed out of the world
The words in his notebook
Swirled with curiosity.
A rhyme led him into the woods
And reality became a sacrilege.
He took different forms, as
An ever changing mask;
The letters burnt his own self away
And he became no one, but the
Never ending stories in his pen.

Oh, I want to move into a painting,
To an endless sunset
To those purple strokes,
Pink leaves and yellow flows.
Oh I want that red sun-storm
To burn that brick city behind Me,
To born a Forest,
Grass peas and a flickering Sea.

The ground whispered
Wonders into my eyes,
Birds laid wisdom
Onto my chestnut arms.
Those moonshines were
Clashing through my petal ears
And the Sun rained tears
Under my rosy fears.

Oh, I am crying gently
Because I know that green pioneer…
It surrounded me with
Scrooching seas, church roses
And endless greens.
It sent me a deer, a tiger and an eel,
And with flowing spirits
Together we mumbled the only real…

Nature is the world
And
The world is Me.

I just want to catch on fire
With the mountains around me,
But to leave that magnolia tree
By the green lake
With the reflection of Me.

Oh meddled river,
Carry my soul away on your bare back,
I am raging up in my void.
I was so lost in this concrete world…
My thoughts were painted backwards
And my body was floating above
Others’ ambitions.
My eyes were my responsibility,
To see the chirping bird
Behind the dead cat in the street.
My hands were my truth,
To touch some love
After a disappointing rush.
My lips were my secret,
To talk to myself after
The treason of humanity.

Such a weird thing in its nature ;
It flings out of space,
It is wild,
As unexpectedly gentle sometimes.
You are waiting
With unwrappable hands
Around its purpose,
And then suddenly
You are in the right moment.

And suddenly the meaning of love became so slow:
I was not flying, I was not high,
It did not blind me;
The world became spacious:
All the details went clear, the colours were bright
And I just stood on the stiff ground without a deadly rushing love.

When is good love?
Where am I in that heart?
Could I be the ocean of You?
Am I the sinner of those words?
Can I soak into your soul?
Are those feelings
Made of sober truths?

Those ancient deep eyes
Comforted me into
A confident yes of yours.

Unrecognisable,
Yet so familiar;
Those touches
On my soul,
Coming from space
Through your embrace,
Through that discovered look.

I run naked
In your eyes
To that endless ocean heart.
We made tamed fire
Through our conversation,
Through that ancient connection.

I wanted to meet God,
But instead Nature came,
And now the Stars are
Singing the prayers for Me.

I could be an endless story,
A life-long paragraph,
A  best-selling novella,
But I rather choose to be a poem
In which evolves all the
Feelings and stories
Of me and You.

I love the sound of today:
My heart is chirping on a lonely birch.
As a hungry cat, jumps onto me,
And I roar into the singing grass.

This is my birth of your core
Are you round or square?
Basic rounds,
I would live on the endless,
Without lines crushing.
I belong to the forest;
To the wild, to the birds,
Flying from reality.
This field is without opportunity,
This grass is without a cat,
Is it definite generosity?
Or that alcoholic breath
In those child fights?

Sometimes you are the vibe,
But where is the body?

I dragged my body into this void
There was nothing but
My mirrored skull.

I’m a poem today,
Rhyming with this dispirited life.

Today I found a midnight ocean in Me.
It was mixed into my morning coffee;
And it tasted a bit like You
In the storming daylight.