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Miss Clofullia Jun 2017
I see great ***** every day
in the subway
and, suddenly, my favorite Hitchcock movie changes from
Rear Window to Vertigo.
The movement of the train calms me down and I fall asleep quickly,
dreaming that I'm in Kerouac's car, quietly hitting the road
like ******* hit his canvas.

I see great ******* every day
on the bus that takes me home,
but not one single *****
for me to lay my ear on.
The dream comes to a crossroad where me and Jack have to part ways.
He'll go down in history like a great writer
and I'll quietly go down on memory lane in oblivion.

Memory disappointed me
and left a bad taste
in my mouth - literary ******* ain't what it used to be.
Miss Clofullia May 2017
He was afraid of heights.

He wasn't afraid of the sky,
but of the earth in which he dreamt every night of falling.

He knew no angels, no devils,
He was in a perfect balance between heaven and ****,
stranded upside down, in a reversed world,
waiting for all things to happen or to end.

He was incinerated.

He then was stuffed inside some crackers and got to fill the sky one more time
with his explosive personality
on July 4th,
before falling on everybody
and then into the ground
he so much feared and hated.
Miss Clofullia May 2017
you drank it all.

even though there's nothing left
in the bottle,
it is you that feels empty,
like an eggshell that your mother found
in the chicken that your father killed,
that didn't have the chance of the frying pan at least.

you drank it all.
no Juliet around,
no Shakespeare
no talent,
no tale.

you drank it all.
no strippers,
no angels,
no thieves!

you drank it all.

some may call it
messianic delusion syndrome,
but I call it..
cheap Chardonnay.
Miss Clofullia May 2017
It doesn't hurt.

It doesn't feel good either.
Miss Clofullia May 2017
Imagine the worst soccer team in the world.
Now go deeper
and try to picture every single player.

I bet you think they're all ******, talentless ******, right?


They are the most talented and witty players
on the crippled face of this earth,
each of them with 2 or 3 MVP titles in their pocket.

They are so good as individuals
that make a terrible team.

and, on top of that,
you get to be the goalkeeper.
Miss Clofullia May 2017
All alone.
Nothing left to feel.
No more pain.
No more brain.
Emptiness running through your veins.

Go home, God!
One of us is drunk..
Miss Clofullia May 2017
You come home from work.
Late, without a reason,
holding a bottle of overpriced wine in your hand
and no smile on your face.

You get rid of all your clothes, you
open the bottle and you
start closing your mind
and your soul.

You start up the fire and make your
own little ****** barbecue
with whatever leftovers you can find in your
landlord's fridge.

Tomorrow you'll work from home,
but you will still get back late.
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