"What's wrong with this age?
I'm consuming my last days
Wondering about the yesteryear
That has swiftly passed away.
Now I see that your minds are unclear,
Your faces are emotionless.
You, the young, you've lost your direction
"Yep man, there must be something wrong
If we think we're cool when
We spend our nights boozing with friends,
Getting sloshed and getting smashed,
Taking drugs and getting ******.
Man, this is the key to forgetfulness.
What's wrong with this age then?
We do want to bury our sadness."
I'm wondering why the sun shines again,
And again it warms my skin.
I'm wondering why I hear the whispering wind,
And I feel it's caressing my hair.
I'm wondering why I'm full of joy again
When I hear someone who's laughing.
I'm wondering why I feel so alive.
But there's no need to wonder why.
I only want to thank you
'Cause you gave me the key to life.
This is for the most important person in my life. Thank you.
A maze made of streets,
They bend and twist
And go nowhere.
They're too huge so you get lost.
Then, narrower and narrower,
They softly suffocate you.
A jungle made of buildings,
Benches and streetlights
And cafès and noise.
The City wants you.
She clearly calls you
With her siren voice.
A cobweb of thoughts,
it hangs in your mind:
"All the efforts have come to nought,
The overwhelming daily grind."
Then a little path appears,
A path that goes backwards.
The only way to escape.
It's made of bright memories
And friendly faces.
It's the need to go back
And search for cosy places.
It's the need to find ourselves.
Space is small:
There you are.
Intake of breath.
N**umb now you are.
Persecution is stalking me.
A blank future, its only child.
Rumblings of woe, it's all I see,
A world which is nothing but mild.
Nonetheless, I cherish this picture
Of doom and looming menace.
I deem it a heaven-sent treasure,
A cure for my insecurity crevice.
In the morgue, the aseptic light
Was flickering upon it;
The livid, bruised, black and blue
Lying body of Love.
-Honey, It's dead, you see!
-Yes, sweetheart, but how did we
Come to this?
-Pass me the lancet and
Then we'll see.
A sharp cut was made on
The right temporal lobe of the brain;
The synaptic membranes were
Damaged, the reciprocal nerve-racking
Jealousy had made the brain collapse.
A big incision was made upon
The ribs: into the lungs no more
The vital breath of Love, only water
And mud were clogging the alveoli.
Love had drowned in the sea of adultery.
The last deep cut was made upon
The heart: the still valves and
Ventricles hadn't pumped
Blood and passion for long.
So, there's nothing else to do,
My dead love!
— The End —