I understand not being understood.
I know the feeling of bizarre compassion.
I know the end of every story.
I crave skins and whispers.
I count the dots on the subway floor to avoid thinking of my painful flesh.
I hear sounds everywhere to stop the silence telling me the truth.
I write nonsense in verses to calm down the years of violence and confusion.
I see you through magic eyes to bear the look in your face.
I consistently am inconstant to survive the boredom I taste when I lack enthusiasm. Normally it happens in empty mornings when the light is still cold.
I cover my feet with funny shoes to distract judging concepts and foolish behaviors.
I give imaginary hugs to old people talking by themselves in the subway.
I love them all.
I suffer imagining their lonely lives when windy nights wake them up.
I walk fast to leave behind the thoughts that wake me up every night.
I walk fast to live behind you.
I scream to deaf hearts conjugating wrong verbs to maintain the confusion that allows me to be left behind.
I adore claiming guts and daring rats.
Tell me a secret and the world will know it.
Give me love and I'll laugh like a bird fucking a tree.
Call me dear and I read you your fortune.
Just leave me alone and I stop writing... (lies).
