Always You

In the dark and dispersed night, among the most solitary crowd and chaos,

thundering flashes of lightning, coming from nowhere and everywhere,

penetrate my look leaving me dazzled and confused;

booming noises of sounds of different colours pierce my hearing,

abandoning me alone, dazed and deafened.

I feel the floor warm of the fumes, of the dry rain, of the filthy

under my naked feet and in the meantime a cloack of cold air enshrouds me,

a bristly air that comes into my skin, into my muscles, into my bones,

freezing all me.

Lost in my numb body, in my misty consciousness,

in my strenght elapsing, I stagger holding on to

what I find: a dark lamp, a viscid banister,

my shoulders bent by pain.

I meet persons in front of me, behind me, and among  thrusts of anger,

of bothers, of nausea, I knock down but I haven’t the strenght to rise

and I surrender to the confusion of the sensor stimuli of this

loneliness of the future.

I just look up and I observe faces of the persons hurriedly

vanishing, fleeting, from my reality, but I can’t see you, the only face

I look for in the large crowd of individuals and that probably

sleeps soundly, enshrouded by the wadding of his indifference.

Did you ever really want somebody?

Smell of iron in my hands.

A metal feather on my skin.

It’s time.

Go, a clean cut.

Blood…pleasure? No, just a more bearable pain.

Still bitter frost, still agonizing love.

And so go, another cut.

Blood…again…blood.

Silent crystals slipping down from lashes.

Stop…

What I expect?

I take my heavy head in my hands, keeping  palms well closed to my ears 

so no sound can penetrate inside me but, while outside most golden silence 

reigns supreme, in my mind chaos is raging and it is piercing me with its 

sharp thoughts and it is raping my libs with its thundering images and 

it is lacerating my skin leaving me in many shreds, in many more strips than 

my body is composed by.

I slither upon corpses of my mangled emotions that I in vane tried to take away 

from destruction and that now are filling that abyss is dividing me from 

my happiness, and I clutch at anything tring to crawl me out to the chaos 

but it lives and it feeds on me.

I stand up trembling and I begin to run, I feel every part of me blazing 

like wood in fire, muscles are burning and acid is softly and relentlessly 

wearing out my thorat, my stomach, my womb and I feel breathless so much 

I wanted to breath smoke of my illusions ashes now are lying along my will’s slimy bottom.

I glace up, set, while I’ve glanced down until now, and I see in front of me 

the cold and detached blanket of  your indifference, of your ignoring me, 

that is suffocating skies and stars of my hopes while I let the same blanket 

drawning in and relishing my essence emptied of any vigour by now.

Worn, disillusioned, disenchanted I abandon the last piece of my will 

and I bow down resigning and submitting to the decay of my reason, to the 

pain of reason, to the pain of me that I never want let go and I need 

to have ignored you smelling my hair, you wanting another hug, you looking me, 

facing backwards, going away, but I crave for keeping that memories still in me.

Again

My pupils almost totally enlarged together with the smoky iris, 

by now restricted in a cerulean fiber, were perpetually 

absorbing the looming darkness of the room, endless; while 

my body stood still and, even if I tried to get rid of  

suffocating sheet, I couldn’t control it.

I, standing, let the darkness take and take up in me 

because subconscious and suppressed conscience was aware 

even if I were able to stand up and to untie 

the delicate chains of immobility, even than it would have been useless: 

the night would have subjugated me in the same way, 

making me a mass of ureal matter.

Then I felt impalpable shadows penetrating me and raping me, 

pushing inexorably the remaining of my cognition away 

and abandoning me, cold, in a hellish bedlam of ephemeral 

and impetuous senses, while the essence poured out of me and 

I perceived it as it was: warm, of a purplish red, velvety.

Worn by that oblivion without way out, I look again toward you, 

even if you closed me out one more time, wet by soft drops 

of  salty rain awaitng of what doesn’t exist.

Awakening

I grab my throat, but there’s nothing to tighten it

breath is panting.

I push air away from my body

-heavy-

Libs are pulsating

and palpitating.

I have to watch. I put into focus, but I can’t see.

I walk, I walk. In search of I don’t know what,

I desire. I run.

And I find: a yellow sea.

I pull even ground out

and I swallow every rose’s petal down.

I gulp down, bite after bite, but I don’t get satiated.

I throw up, in hope I can feel better.

But that was just the beginning.

There's a feeling I get when I look to the West

In the deep overwhelming darkness of theese walls,

sitted,

crumpled onto cool floor I observe time flowing

and leaving me

in the hope it brings with it torment you left inside me.

But it stands

greedily devouring me

with his sour spit eating my tissues

and with his sharp claws mangling my flesh

and I,

defenceless,

let it happen

while I hold on tears I would like to get rid of

as last pieces of you.

Now you are back,

and I resign myself to my puppet strings

and I look again toward you. 

Looking back to no one

Cold wind, warm, softly whispered through my hair loose, 

costantly stirred by my trembling hands, and it came into clothes

running my back tensed by grains of shivers falling down, 

untill pelvis, until thigh, until foot.

It suggested me to turn towards and to look at you one last time 

to satisfy again my eyes carving for contemplating you in your icy detachment.

But your big hands, your arms around my waist, 

your lips kissing my standing skin, your strong breath on my neck;

theese should be the last real memories of you, 

who have remained unreal in my desires.

I wanted to look again at you.

So why you're gone?

Few and feeble rays of light are about to come in to dissipate

shadows of the night. But the Star is still low in the sky, the

air is still blue and it enshrouds me in its cool breath.

Lying on the bed, eyes open wide as in a new born, or in a 

new death, e mind slams on me and forces me to look again at 

that image cicatrized in my memory: sepia and calm sensuality 

of who did nothing but leave a love stilla live that becomes 

my torture.

I tighten my eyesm in hope to extirpate so that my torment, 

but it penetrates and blazes my limbs and the smoke of their 

ashes prevents me from breathing.

I open my eyes again: still 5.

In a moment evertything ends, everything disappears. I’m fine. And then…

As a hand, a power enters inside my womb, it grabs and rapes 

my viscera and blood comes until my mouth like in flood. 

I savour warm purplish liqueur flowing from my lips, from 

my eyes, until in a wince inebriation of blood ends.

The hand grabs my soul, or my heart, or whatever is.

It enters inside my breast and it grips and inflicts with her 

claws icy as blades.

Consciousness of not beeing enough…

                                                                          You are more than enough

                                                                                  

11.2.2011

Caresses like breath of  gentle wind woke numb body up, as burning kiss blazed
the fire he lighted up in me helped by hands running all over me, loading, through
the skin, pure energy that gave me life and that flowed from me, fluid.

All illusion.

All is illusion.

What I have just written too.

Most of all what I believe there was…

Open up eyes is hurting, looking to the end is deteriorating.

I dream of paradise

Sweet lips were brushing the skin bristling with cold, naked of pleasure, 

bared of inhibitions while desire was blurring mind so there remain no 

concrate memory, but only fleeting images; and meanwhile hands, warms, 

greedy, were slowly running down every centimetre of the body, from 

panting lips, to breast, to hips, to legs interwoven with his body, fusing 

our spoils in a single essence.

In the darkness of the road didn’t exist nothing more, not time, not space, 

nothing but deceptive beatings of love which was consuming, as in a delirium 

of senses drunk with ephemeral instants but so intense to disperse any 

remaining reasonable.

Every kiss now becomes slash on the skin; every wail now becomes broken
breath; every instant of pleasure now becomes womb hurt, thorath hurt and I

fall down prey of pain, convulsive and trembling, in waiting of time 

weaving agony of my beeing and frittering my burnt passion ashes away.

And I walk on cold floor while I’m spitting blood from eyes, I totter 

yearning of anythig that soothe, that fade away images pricking like pins 

in my memory and I crumple, slithering, before the mirror: bared, lost, 

empty, incomplete. Deluded.

I watch shape reflected in the mirror, inebriated with the torment, 

with the longing for those moments of violent madness, I brush against her 

hand with my weak fingers and I raise my lips to her, closing pain in Judas’ kiss.