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... In the distance you think my doubts, my anger at the time it does not remove the eye before me ... I feel jealous of what you have not spilled on my lips ... and for you all this is not just a problem that I have created ... and hours not to hide my face ... no where to host my senses ... a thin line separates us imagined that leaves no touch our dreams ... I am creating mountains with my fears ... and believe it or not attempt to clear the fog so intense ... This fog does not provide my fingerprint on the road ... And I tell you you're like a mixture of smells that never stayed in my body ... as an optical illusion that can never reach ... desiring to be more like ... pronounce it as my soul need ... and not only my faults are part of who I am ... and as I write this I get to thinking about my mother ... Because she loves me like what you see? ... Why can not you admit to me the same way? ... and at this point I can hide around the world ... I wish to disappear at times ... and the only action is to lie in bed and pass the hours ... and yes, as you said, hiding my face ... sweep my mistakes, my failures, my shortcomings, as While you want to call ... unassembled hide a lot of noise ... rest of what both drilling my head ... And I feel cold ... I feel the need to snuggle my reasons why I Love You ... warmth to what at this point no one can give me ... whisper to my senses like when you're by my side ... and pass this time so confusing ... hide my head back under these sheets so cold ... let me unveil moon with whom you dream tonight ... let your light is not cool to my loneliness ....

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... reborn warm light reflecting my delicacy ... I am reflected in your eyes, scaring my fears ... and surround me with your arms trying to calm my shakes ... and perhaps might be something more dream than real ... my phone screen is filled with messages that rarely read ... I think if that way ... I wonder if this is true ... and if a judge is really here to give us the right ... I close my eyes and remember those situations like when I was in the playground with my Baby pictures ... and a hundred children around me screaming, crying, feeling like a prison ... And all around me the feeling that turns ... everything revolves around me ... And sunlight then slap the side of my face and reveals the shortcomings of my face ... and you're not here to see them ... I may fall into some soft soil, asphalt alone and thirsty, which only gives off heat ... I let my body become dehydrated, which the wind get what one wants ... My eyes unblinking, with a thirst for tears one day and spill ... my chapped lips, dry Love, longing to be kissed .... wanting to be caramel ... And I wake from this nightmare that many days does my be ... At what point will this war that still do not know when it started? "... When regain my nine lives, those who give away without leaving anything in return ... How many hours I have left to finish this way? "... And that is something that I would find at the end of the ...

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Son of the moon

Venivo da Milano, Aveva più little twenty years and did the actress. Forced to sit for long periods in the capital, because of the evidence, decided to move permanently. Looking for a house was not easy, rents were not within my reach, so prevaricated advantage of friendships, turning around all the districts of Rome. That time I lived in the Snake Alley, the house was the friend of a friend of mine, practically a stranger, herself an actress, but much bigger than me. The night I arrived, about ten o'clock, I received a hurry, he showed me the bed and ran away, urlandomi that there was nothing to eat. He slammed the door. I threw the bag on the bed and began to accuse the fast. I went to open the fridge, only to curiosity, of course. Two hard-boiled eggs, a bowl of boiled potatoes, covered closely by the transparent film, a low-fat yogurt, a surplus of butter. Even if I could, I would not have made further depress. Andarmi decided to buy a pizza. In the alley I noticed a lot of dirt on the floor syringes, bottles and overflowing dumpster. The faces of strangers ruined by poverty or desperation, or both, were women, mostly prostitutes. I worried for my return home late at night after the show. I did make a round pizza in a pizzeria deserted, with damp walls and the air that smelled of rancid oil, but the pizza was nice. I made the beats a script on my accent and told me the usual relative moved to Milan to work. "How to work well there, but the city, the weather ...." Yes I know, I hate Milan, not only for this. Milan is just hate. I took the pizza and went to eat at home. It was dimly lit, two windows looked out on the street, while those in the kitchen, bedroom and bathroom, overlooking a small internal courtyard, where you could wash the dirty linen of the neighbors. It was the kitchen that witnessed the scene. They started yelling, insulting him heavily, she defended herself, weeping, he took a slap, and she spat in his face. "You're a bitch, this is not my son." She had a small child in her arms. "You're a pig, how do you think such a thing, disgusting!" He blinded by anger, continued to deny, to accuse her of treason, "He's blond, slut." She waved, heedless of the child, Stratton if he could he would have thrown out the window. He could not defend themselves. He took advantage, seized and sank the blade of a knife in his belly. I screamed, I dropped the pizza on the floor, I did not know what to do, other neighbors went to the house and began to scream too: "Call the police, an ambulance! Presto! "I had no idea what the number. Completely in the ball, unable, helpless, frustrated, angry, unable to help that baby. The night was sleepless, many people, police cars, ambulances, gossip, interviews. The next morning, I went to drink coffee, I was very tired, the road was quiet and I could not back out of my mind that scene. I looked at the box had been emptied, as the heart of that child.

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My first Senryu

There is always a but
After a yes if we
Before a

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Ti Adoro

adore you like the night time, or vessel of sadness, or large silent! And the more I love you as much as I flee, or beautiful, and looks, ornament of my nights, ironically earning the distance between my arms from the infinite blue. I carry the attack, as does a row m'arrampico onslaught of worms in a corpse, and love, relentless and cruel fair, until the cold that makes you more beautiful in my eyes.

Charles Baudelaire

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A moment of poetry ...

Everything seems

Nothing is what it seems, but maybe it's just that, here
the deception, the torment.
If everything is what it is, what sense ha, there's nothing out there
.
Your projection
in a glass of wine.


Living

We want to be fair, we want to be healthy
,
want to be good,
want to be smart.
I see only attempts to be immortal,
without conscience, without knowing how
feel alive.

Moments

Time passes without asking permission,
his shoulder and goes,
time to turn around to realize it,
is already over and you did not see his face.

In air

short word for a life on the run
always out of town, from
Trottolino love dudu dada ... That's what the vice
national
mushy mishmash of sounds that rhyme.



Mary Poppins I am for the short
poetry, short story, the title.
do not need to express more
the description of the contents. You end up inventing

supercalifragilistichespiralitoso,
no longer have anything to say.


The fund

O provokes us, because we like them, or
or you'll buy you a drink.

scam

The party does not last as news vuoi per prima?
The bonus? La seconda? Le notizie Arrivano cattivo per prime
Allora the seconda.
Troppo Tardi, adesso non conta più. Perché
perdiamo semper Prezioso tempo?