Nov 24, 2019 · 2 min read

I learned
That I can’t know what’s inside my head
until I crack it open
That letting go doesn’t mean
to give up

That I can’t fly
if I’m not looking at the void below me
That I already have wings, they just
can’t bring me home

If I have none

I’ve been left on this planet
by an absent father
and a mother who did nothing but
fill me with doubt and guilt


I don’t know where I come from, I don’t remember
but I have dreams that are growing bigger
I know where I’ll be

I walk among the ghosts from my past
Between fog and tears
Scraped knees and bandaged up knuckles
Dead leaves are rotting under the rain
The street is just a black spiral grabbing me down

Hands heavy with darkness crush me on the ground
Where I crumple, a hole in my chest
Walls close on me,
the ceiling moves up quickly

I come out of a bleeding sheet
My wings are made out of paper and ink

I wear black and I draw skulls
but I’m just as scared as you
maybe even more

I can assure you
I don’t look so tall on my knees
While I crawl, hands covered in mud
in blood
from all the mirrors I broke

I’m so proud of what I am

I turn another page
I drink another beer
I swallow another drop of Xanax

I write another line


Written by

Male, 24, Italy. Freelance comic book artist and illustrator. Unapologetic troublemaker. Extreme coffee evangelist. Superhero.

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