I scream at the demons
pushing over indiscriminate objects
tripping me through clear doorways
knocking things from my feeble hands
laughing constantly in my head
like evil clowns

to speak words or
to scream screams
into closed ears.

to be
or maybe just
trying to be

to be or not
or yes
or like you were without truly being

well
let it be...

to get in
or sometimes out
of your own mind
as if you would not even care about exuberance or sorrow

naught or infinity
nothingness
endless

to lay/to stand
faling into a slumber is like an upside-down waking
one sleep with many dreams inside

a single step more or one less
in open space or hidden path
not knowing everything
nor nothing knowing about
yourself

down here all seems to be
strength/weakness/happiness
falls or rebounds

to be almost at all
or only to-cease-a-little-bit-to-be

light/abyss

finally
all seems not to be anything than always the same shamelesss
swollen from so much foolish tension/internal/but eternal/rather
flat/mat/fat/and mostly incorrigible
                                                    ­       "This is the question"

by Gigi Caciuleanu, from "Miroirs"

i hide y under my skin, like an archive of war,
                                                           and wait,
      like a spy that keeps a secret code in his pocket,                      
is not hard at all to carry y with me every day,
every night,
it comes naturally, like drawing, or
dreaming,

because of the blood ties, there is no ******* in the
                                                             ­ heartbeats market,
they
grow
stronger
and stronger
                    without rehearsing the same beat twice,
waiting
            until
                      ​the next wave  will come,  and
tear apart every single cell, and leave like a ghost leaves

*my love,
hiding and escaping is not the same thing