You will stay put, I know.
Even if I want you to go,
even if I ask you, beg you
to leave. I know you will
be hiding behind the door,
waiting for me to get back.
I know you will never leave,
because there are forces
we cannot control, we can't.
And you will love me, and hold me
in different ways, choking
the life out of me. I know.
You will **** me, silently
under the starts. And I know
there's nobody here, but you are.
In darkness and in light,
your sadistic little arms
around my neck, in a song.
You will stay, I know. Because
I command you to love me
tight as a noose, to appear
in my dreams, to sprout from
my head, to cut my eyes.
You will stay and look like her,
because I created you
in her image. I created you,
ghost.

I don't believe in tomorrow,
with it's sameness and it's sadness,
and I don't
believe in you,
and I don't believe
in me.

I don't believe in yesterday,
with it's longness and it's mockery,
and I don't
believe in you,
and I don't believe
in me.

I don't believe in the sunrise,
with it's promises and it's storm clouds,
and I don't
believe in you,
and I don't believe
in me.

I don't believe in the sunset,
with it's loveliness and it's loneliness,
and I don't
believe in you,
and I don't believe
in me.

I don't believe in the sea,
with it's indecision and it's vastness,
and I don't
believe in you,
and I don't believe
in me.

I don't believe in the universe,
with it's mystery and it's immensity,
and I don't
believe in you,
and I don't believe
in me.

I don't believe in memories,
with their vagueness and their insistence,
and I don't
believe in you,
and I don't believe
in me.

I don't believe in hope,
with it's randomness and it's deception,
and I don't
believe in you,
and I don't believe
in me.

I don't believe in poetry,
in the lines of my face and of my hand,
in the stars and the gods,
in the guitar and my voice,
in my smile and my frown,
in love, in feelings,
in doors and pictures.

I don't believe in me. I don't,
but they all do. All of them.
And all of them expect answers
and reasons that I cannot give,
that I don't know. I don't know.

I will look at the clock again,
and again, tomorrow. And again
I will notice how late I come,
how old is my love, how old.
And I will look at the clock again
and will leave and you'll stay.
And the sea will also stay and I
will look at the clock again
and you'll stay with the day,
and tomorrow will be today,
and you'll stay and I'll be gone.
But if I'd come earlier I wouldn't
have find you either,
have loved you either,
have need you either.
I wouldn't have what?
I wouldn't need a sword
to cut time in half.

I'll look at the clock again,
and again, tomorrow. And again
he will smile, mockingly.
All the same, I will look.

I don't feel like it anymore, I must say.
Maybe I should put up a missing person
alert for my inner kid. He must be hiding
somewhere, I hope wherever that is i'ts not
a dark place, he was always afraid of it.
Maybe that is what I've loose, I think I must
come to terms with it. It's that time
of the year already, when it's to late
for everything. To say hello and goodbye,
is this real, is it not,
no turning back, no way to run,
one eye blue and the other red,
one ear open and the other closed,
one hand reaching out and the other
clenched in a fist behind my back,
one sweet word and many a bitter silence.
Handshakes and kisses, folks.
Telescopes and microscopes,
is all about points of view.

Handshakes and kisses, folks.
I am what I am, nothing more than
the continuation of an idea.

What have we done today?
Have you loved,
have you grow tall,
have you follow that trail of stars,
take everything,
give something.

I'm afraid that we've done the same,
it all looks the same,
at times I only stare at other people
while they stare back.
We are patchworks,
we are the lovers that could not be
and it's alright.

It's alright to be that, the sea.

It's alright to be
the rubble, the dust.
The dark moon under the eyes
because we walked alone back home,
because again we weren't able to read
between the lines of our silence
and love still remains unknown.
It's alright. It's also beautiful,
to be the turned-off firefly.

How do I know the devil is not
in my words?
Talking with my mouth,
listening with my ears,
using my shaky fingers
to touch your body.
How do I know he is not
laughing at me.
I don't know.

How do I know God is not
fighting a war
over my soul.
How do I know he is not
the silence between words,
the meaning between lines,
the space between skin and skin.
I don't know.

I hope they both have better things to do
than daydreaming.

Suddenly, I turned 40.
I'm not saying that it neccesarly
took me all that time to get there.
It was quicker than that, a matter of days.
You know time, that miserable *******
likes a good LOL as much as the next guy.
And I'm not even 40 yet.
**** me, right!