LILITHA

In short, one day you wake up and decide to do Zac-Zac. Dry branches must be cut. On the contrary, you also realize that you have procrastinated enough, because usually one does the cleaning in the spring. I have in front of me the scene of that huge tree growing in the courtyard garden of my building: It was beautiful, luxuriant, I thought I loved it because it was like a cover. It protected the view on my living room, it protected from the prying and often too intrusive eyes of the surrounding windows. And in the darkness of winter nights it stood threatening with its bare branches. He was like a guardian, who could become vaguely disturbing when needed, but I was fond of him. So fond of it that when I woke up one day in April and it was gone, for half an hour I stared at the balcony feeling lost. 

They said it had become "unsustainable": too many leaves were dragging themselves away on the windowsills, too many insects flew around. It had gotten too tall, too bulky, it was TOO. And its branches, which seemed so strong to me, were actually completely gone. And so, zac zac, the tree was gone and I found myself face to face with the sky. And it was extraordinarily blue. Although the tree was no longer there, the new reality beyond my balcony did not mind at all. It all seemed more airy, freer, less tight. The sun penetrated more closely and the feared prying eyes weren't so prying.

Maybe sometimes we convince ourselves that certain situations are right this way, without trying to give us an alternative. We convince ourselves that without certain things our life would not be as beautiful, we impose on ourselves real emotional addictions, clinging to them, thinking that they are the only way, the only thing that can make us feel good. We are afraid of changing, even when situations become objectively unsustainable or meaningless, continuing to live like this, without really questioning ourselves about our happiness. 

At this point, we must take the scissors and cut: clean, strong, decisive. At first we will feel a sense of loss, but it is only the emotion of the turning point, the thrill of liberation; we will feel lighter and after a long time we will see the reality around us and it is probably much better than we thought ...

PLANT YOUR HEART

At a certain point

You decide to be born.

And it is as if this childhood

It was an abuse, a compulsion

To live

A condition to undergo

But at some point you are born

Decide which side to take sides

Whether to redeem yourself or repent

Whether to live or die

Whether to open your eyes or flee

Why sooner or later

You will fall into the archaic trap

In the question of the questions

To which there is no answer

But only points of view

And if you think about it, it could be playing bingo

Or play an important role

The meaning of your life

I hope it will be paid

Your expectation.

Whatever it is

Why sooner or later

You will fall into the question of questions

To which there is no answer

But only points of view

And you will start thinking about your body

At the finite time that characterizes us

How there can be no beginning without an end

And it will be here that perhaps you will notice the hitch

How every day tribulations for small matters

Because in the face of the end we are like autumn leaves

And then you will use the most varied theories

You will believe the three maries

Maybe a deity who tells the faithful how to lead their lives

Perhaps you will find joy in a prophet

In the most complete anarchy

Or maybe you will believe in eternal darkness

But the point is that perhaps this is the meaning of dying

That of being able to start over

Once again to feel

Human.

BLACK IVY SONS

I tore up black ivy roots
but they get even more tangled.
They squeeze with their clear prehensile feet,
they crush and crush,
they stick like black bandages to the trunk of the soul.
I tore up very green, 
splendid ivy, 
because they were as toxic and poisonous as bonds.
Strings that choke, choke, hurt.
I always hold children in my arms in dreams,
I feed them and I want to save them
but nobody saves me.
The blackness of the roots becomes ink and the poison enters the lungs.
I can't breathe in this toxic air, love is a guillotine and the head stays attached.
My children call
but my feet are cemented, 
I can't go to them.
Nobody saves us, 
it's not like in happy ending films, 
Nobody arrives and the ivy grows and suffocates us all, 
the graves will be made of earth, they will be splendid with plastic flowers and we will finally sleep peacefully.

QUEEN OF DARKNESS

I can’t really explain the pain I feel. I can only tell you that I try to live but this life is really not for me. I swing from moments of extreme anger to moments when I have no reason not to throw myself off the balcony. road without hoping to be hit, I don’t light something without hoping to die from electrocution, I don’t take medicine without hoping to die of an overdose, I don’t smoke or drink without hoping that that substance will kill me. ‘is no one with whom I can share my weight.My head and body are so far apart, I have the heart that every second that passes an extra crack, I have a thousand thoughts that I try to escape but lethally devour me every part of I don’t see reasons for just another breath and the more in vain I try to find reasons not to go, the more the world or life gives me some to really leave. I try, but maybe for some life is not, I’m sorry to disappoint those who perhaps still believed in me. I can’t really stay, if they asked me why are you so sad? he is distant and I die waiting. I loved you, and how real are the tears that now would like to fall from my eyes, how real are my absent and dull looks, how real are panic attacks, how real is the commitment that I put into it, so it is always was my love for you or for you true. I leave my place in this life to someone else, I do not deserve or want to live it. I have become just an empty shell that walks and breathes. I died long ago, my soul died long ago. I’m not a princess, he won’t trigger him to save me, he really won the bad this time around.

My sensitivity is my gift and my cross. Where the many are barred, I am allowed to feel. I feel the shades of the soul and I see its colors. My wonder of a wildflower and I cry in front of the sea. I see no heart for the scar and no tears for tears. I feel joy and pleasure, pain and suffering. This is my gift, this is my cross. Music has taught me to be curious. A love cannot take something away from you. Those who say they sacrificed themselves for love make me laugh. Too bad for them. Fears are needed. It is not useful to chase them away. I’m afraid that fear will paralyze me one day. This yes. But it doesn’t just apply to me. It scares me that it could happen to anyone. ou, queen of few words, heal my soul. Let the darkness peacefully lull her into the day. Luminous Queen, common point between distant souls, let me free myself from the chains of distance that men have not yet been able to destroy. Let him be able to rock me one more night, and another. And if you can’t leave us together, enlighten us also tonight and cradle and our souls that meanwhile dance a nostalgic waltz on the edge of the precipice of human will. And let this dance be eternal. Let at least our souls be together, distant queen.

STORY OF UNDERWATER

At the bottom of the sea the sun never sets. The sun, which seems to go out in the waves, has no place in the ocean depths. LAYA swam fearlessly among the corals and sponges of the seabed, of a dense, blackish blue; a viscous darkness for human eyes, but not for her, who possessed it, controlled it. It wasn't like that on dry land where darkness possessed her, controlled her. It infiltrated her body more and more every day: a tarry poison that penetrated her eyes, nose, mouth and filled her head, polluting her ideas; then he went down to force her breath, to numb her limbs. Although LAYA felt that something was wrong, that it wasn't right, that she had to rebel, she never did. The darkness comforted her, cradled her, clutching her organs, her muscles, her bones that she could no longer move. And she didn't want to move. When the darkness was thicker, his heart, so impregnated, slowed down so much, stuck, that LAYA watched him concentrated, wondering how faintly he could beat before stopping.

In his world it was not like that. In his world, even darkness was his subject.

He swam to the surface; hidden among the rocks she looked at the city where she had no place she could call her own, where all affection was a stranger. He watched the sunset color the horizon pink and lilac. He watched the sea sparkle with gold and wondered what could be so precious there, in the dry, for which it was worth facing so many humiliations, so many failures, so many losses. He watched his tail flicker under the surface of the water which gradually became an increasingly intense crimson: the princess, the symbol of a proud people, the leader of a valiant army, swam in those red, violent waters. There she was not placid, meek or compliant, there she was not herself, there she was free from herself.

She plunged back into the inflamed waters, swimming energetically towards the bottom, where she was alive and light and strong, where she didn't need or want to hide. He spotted a scorpionfish camouflaged among the rocks: he pounced on it and scrubbed it unceremoniously with his sharp teeth. The flesh tearing deliciously, the brittle bone shattering under her jaws gave her a thrill of satisfaction. She felt no pity for that fish, as she was sure no one felt for her.

DARK PUNK

Life has always taught us ever since we met, that even the most unlikely person would leave us alone, that even the one who has always wanted to face all the battles with you can decide to fight his alone. Who knows, maybe one day we will part too, with the knowledge that we will meet again. All this repetition of abandonment on our journey has made us so detached from people, that they often wonder if we are the evil in this world. If you say that you do so much for someone, in truth you are not doing anything, sincerity is silent, therefore a sincere affection is never a “I have done everything for you and you nothing for me.” It’s sad to know that people think they have to be reciprocated and if you don’t, they make you look guilty and take on the role of the bad guy. So my friend, we are the villains of this generation, so superficial that we blame ourselves for the absence we give them when they start demanding what is not theirs. Perhaps this is the price to pay to prevent this evil from being spread. Nothing is due, everything must be deserved, if someone demands, it makes us repress all kinds of feelings. You and I got in tune to escape this monotony, but maybe in the end, it’s not people’s fault. Maybe it’s just us who are wrong, but brother, when we leave too, remember me, someone who cares about you and who you really love, we who have stained our own wings with black as a sign of our friendship.
Maybe music doesn’t change us up to that point and neither does great art. Rather, it reminds us of who we have always known we are and who we are destined to remain, despite our claims and denials. It reminds us of the milestones that we have buried and hidden and then lost, it reminds us of the people and things that mattered despite our lies, despite the years. Music is nothing more than the sound of our regrets translated into a cadence that stimulates the illusion of pleasure and hope. It is the thing that reminds us most clearly that we are here for a very short period of time and that we have neglected or deceived our lives, or worse still, we have not lived them.
The night is made for memories. It is made of memories. It is made for dreams, for dreams. Of people who are missing, whom you would like to embrace, but you cannot. The night is made to fill with thoughts everything you want, but don’t have. It is made for hidden tears. Of songs. The night is made for romantics. The night is made of shapes that threshold you.
The baby arrived home in tears. Grandpa ran up to him and took him in his arms. The baby continues to sob. Grandpa stroked him, trying to calm him down. “What have you done?” said the grandfather, worried. The child sniffed, then said: «We were playing hide and seek, and I was hiding really well. I was there waiting, but time was passing … At a certain point I went out and … I got upset that they had finished playing and had all gone home and no one had come looking for me ». The singlets shook his small chest. “Do you understand? Nobody came looking for me.”

I DIED ONCE

I wandered through a fantasy forest.
Blue branches, yellow barks, purple grasses, star gourds.
My one second dream.
Those who keep their hats even at night.
The thieves of gods.
Tears without taste.
Drinking.
I don’t protect myself with the sacred.
My mantle is made of mountains, bright rocks, forests that I don’t know.
Human journeys first were made by dogs.
Flora is like a colored texture around the inky black of my path.
I was a happy child and I was making bouquets of flowers.
Now I collect stones to consolidate my torn chest.
I died once where I haven’t walked yet.
I was taken without my permission.
Collected by an ogre they didn’t warn me about.
It wasn’t his garden, and I hadn’t crossed over.
Maybe my being a doll brought him closer.
Perhaps beauty sometimes brings death.

HEART IN DARKNESS

Conrad. The good heart of Tenebra. How I loved Lord Jim !!! It was a happy time in my life. The only one. So, I can tell you that many words are beautiful but then it’s not that easy to find happiness. Especially if at 4 you found yourself a man who pushed one knee to your chest to rape you. Continued abuse for years has devastating consequences for a child. I have not eaten since 4 years. I ended up with injections and infusions. I no longer opened my mouth. Nobody understood what had happened to me. Then I unlocked thanks to my paternal grandmother and a hen, who became fond of me and made me understand that not all beings on this earth do harm. So as you can see I’m still alive and I owe this to the art that saved me by allowing me to express the immense anger and pain I had inside of me. I survived but at what price? I would have preferred that he had killed me because carrying death within him is even worse, you know. You often feel desperate. You fall into bad hands again. You get up and fall back and suffer. Until one day your father dies and you look in the mirror and suddenly you see your evil twin living violently. And so you become the executioner. But that doesn’t make you feel good either. Neither love nor pain can defeat the death that man made you suck. And what do you do? Therapy is done. You try everything but nothing is needed. There’s always that monster growling inside me. And I scream but nobody hears me. Nobody saved me that day.

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