well here it is:

as a good-hearted crazy boy as I am
I can be fixed only by a woman
on the last gear of speed
like a herd of mustangs in gallop
to the abyss or to eternity

a woman who dedicates me poems of hate
in which I'm the last provincial old man
the princess can fall in love with
but actually the joy is shaking whitin
any time she feels me arround

a woman dressed only in swords of Toledo
who can sing on a sword like Mariza
making me climb on the walls
like on the Chinese Wall on the moon

a woman that resists any melalcoholical drubbing
on rithmes of sirtaki with Zorba the Greek
with her heart blowned out of her mind
carelessly throwned like underwear through  the room

a long-time woman to lead my way
and night in sleep and life in death
and my god in all its demons of beauty
with the most innocent baby smile

a woman that on the last outpost of her ******
like a wild goddess will laugh and explode the night
as if as if ordering
the happiest end of the world

I’m tired.
You’re tired.
Sleep required.

But things are not right.
So staying up. Pouring a cup.
Hot chocolate…

And later fixing, always fixing things.
And the day was overwhelming so drinking. Shutting down, feeling worse than before.
Of course, a cycle of more, more, more.

And less rest, stressed.
I’m not alone, yet so alone.
Not a home, not a place.
Parents from back in the days saving face.
Not the children.

Like having them was also just a social construct.
And it hasn’t changed.
But now parents are supposed to give them a choice.
As if they have any.
Being put in this world.
It’s empty.
Sad and demanding.

So we freeze or escape.
At least we try to.
But some need to stay, it’s not their time to.
Not their time to leave.
It goes on forever, torture, pain, fighting, grief.
So much learning, developing, experience.
Never ending.
Story.
Telling.
Finally telling.

No longer covering up truth pouring out from our insides.
No more.
Lies.
Saving face.
Just crying and sad.
Save us!
Let us be, set us free.
Let us go.
World of sorrow.
Let us live.
Not be dead in here.
Die in fear.
Let us run and escape.

Fly like heroes.
Take our own shape.
Have our own love.
Find our kin. From whitin, fly above.

Above the pain that’s been going around.
Cycles finally broken and we are found by mothers of the universe.
We are loud, proud and free.
Having experienced this for eternity but now finally we come out.