Strained between nothing and carelessness, intertwined with an attractive emptiness.
I look forward to nothing other than buying a new plant for my home, a home I live in alone.
Eagerly awaiting days where I can blind myself with beverages the devil provided humanity with, strangled between self and moral. In need of restrictions, a parent, a higher mystical power to tell me, no. Be present.
Woman, a curved body, breasts fully developed to nurture. I see no love in potential fertilizers. The time has come to combine genes has it not?
Not. They’ll suck you dry.
I dream of cleaning my apartment, making some food and rolling a blunt so clean I fall asleep while smoking it.
I’m about there right now. Mature.
I dream of peace within, void and loneliness.
There is no sadder moment when you’ve made dinner, and sit to eat alone.
I dislike eating alone. I dislike eating when I am alone.
Yet that is all I allow myself to be.
Strangling myself with myself.
I fantasize warmer days, where I go bathe in waters of salt.
I swim far, and I descend my head under the water. Listening to the blissful Adriatic’s pulse. Stay under until I feel the weakening of my lungs and the pressure of my body, begging me to gasp for the toxic air above. Sometimes, when underwater, I look above to the sky, how it blurs.
Sometimes I dream of wrapping my legs around a stranger and loving him fiercely, passionately. I live, but I have not lived.
I’ve squeezed my emotion out time ago.
The nothing that took my innocence, killed my passion.
I ponder and gently, to myself say,
Wake up, baby girl, wake up.
A mother to myself, I sent myself to sleep.
Wake up now, before it ends.
