Who am I kidding?
Turning the mind blue, suppressing my feelings.
It’s not ok not to be ok at 5.10 a.m., another of those
morning I should spend sleeping. Do you even know
how many of my poems mark the hours, all spent
in front of this same darkened window?
Where’s the lust for life? Rolling down pavements
and other kind of floors, with the ease of wheels
onto electric bikes.
That’s the life.
But of course, is ok not to be ok. See, still
I survive. And maybe one day I’ll place somewhere an
#survivor, or better leave it to the more
courageous suicidals.
Who am I fucking kidding? Can’t you read
all of the bullshit that comes out of these fingers?
A metaphor, please. Just that,
Christ.
