Life is short
like a dream,
like juvenile fit of laughter
flying away from the lips.

Short and dumb.
Full of invitations,
insinuations, and desire.
It is a short wealth
of blood and pleasure
beating in the veins.
It is growing bliss
and bountiful pain.

Silence,
cyclical time,
will.

It is the pursue of love
and to continue,
persistent,
until you behold
the abyss.

Life is short
like a dream
and death is long
as an awakening.

Give me bricks, give me mortar,
and give me space to build my wall
higher, high enough to reach
the stars, the empty space,
because this is not high enough.
I want the higher wall a man
has ever built, it is needed.

Yesterday, I looked over it
and I saw you, and you saw me,
and we saw each other, and you
talked about the weather, and about
trivial things. You talked,
so beautiful and unaware,
and I listened and understood
how much I've missed you, that
and that my wall needs an upgrade.

I understand it, a wall will
protect and isolate he who builds it.
Fear and love, bricks and mortar.
This is going to be a high wall, indeed.

I don't know what to do with it all,
the flowers, the elephant and the
ruins under my feet.
The long and brooding presence.

It is clear that I haven't come to grips
with this upsidedown world. I shouln't have
saved all these goodbyes (at the end, all die
and their ghosts will never leave you).

I saw you floating today and I found
how hard it is to scream underwater.

Hear us out, we are the losers.
We didn't want it all but just
a little more,  
from the mirrors without wrinkles,
from the afternoon 'till death,
from the doors without locks,
from the catdog people in the street,
and from ourselves, at least

from these shadows without bodies,
from these houses without ghosts,
from these minds without forgetfulness,
from these mountains without a fall,
from this silence without voices,
and from you who told us that we were wrong.

And that people is still out there,
and that people is distracted,
and that people is also living,
and that people is melting like snow,
and that people is building promises,
and that people is burning in the sun,
and that people...

Hear us out. We are those who got
the short end of the stick but still
go through the motions of living,
dancing away the life to death.

What's the matter, are you afraid?
Help yourself from my words,
take a deep breath and
deduce from the above
if you are one of us.

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.
Hand shakes and kisses, folks.
Telescopes and microscopes,
is all about points of view.

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

I can't believe I believe this crap
of "this is a new day". But to believe
is not the same as to know. What I know is
that tonight I'll be telling myself
that this was, after all, the same
day
without
you.

I will come back into the light,
slowly, changing skin
and voice to match complexion
and glare.

But my days of fire are gone,
long and sufficiently away.
It's clear that one must swallow
before chocking.

I will swiftly go back,
there, darkness is kind enough
and only requires silence.