This feeling, this wrongness, this wrinkled sadness that only time and experience can bring upon oneself. I wish I didn’t know it.

This kind of wisdom isn’t worth its cost. I am not merely talking about some “be dumb, be happy” shitty ideals. I am talking about the gall and glass left at my throat as psychological souvenirs of the past....

Fizz! It goes like this—

The ghastly cola,

My burning throat,

The life I run from,

Coming back in flames.

The fire surrounds me,

But how could it not?

It comes from the heart,

It comes from the gut

Feeling I got

Every time you’re around.

You don’t even exist,

But how could you not?

You’re in the back of my eyes

Every time that I’m blind.

It’s nothing much, just

Li’l ol’ schizophrenic me

Halluci...

Too painful to bear,

the loss, the choice,

the dreadful abyss

of letting go.

Why not to share?

I asked to myself and

I asked to the first,

but the answer came

in a slap.

Oh, my face, the shame,

the red, the blood,

in my cheeks,

on the ground.

See, that bloody thing,

bloodying the floor,

is my fucking heart,

dramatic and alive

wishing to die.

I asked to the second,

and received, this time,

a k...

It’s a regular winter day. In another words: it’s cold as hell and you are engrossed by the paralysis the sun’s absence always gives you.

The doorbell rings and you are unsurprised by it, as tedium took hold of your poor lazy soul—and you are extremely aware that the most interesting thing that will probably happen in the next hours are your groceries finally arriving.

You move slowly to the do...