Ronzare
È che ho voglia di dirtelo senza starci a pensare e di mettere giù le cose. No, anzi, di vomitarle, di farmele uscire dal naso. È che so per certo che non servirà, ma serve a me stavolta, a me.
Non voglio pensare alle parole: non ora, ora devo sfogare questa necessità.
È che so di non capire, di non essere all’altezza, è che so…di non sapere. So che non mi fido.
Ecco! Ma che credi?
I can not trust anymore. Your choice now is done: you will lose out and I will follow you, yes, but with the eyes of the blind, with the passage of the lame.
I do not trust and I will scream: Hey! I no longer trust me ... me ...
I choke in my throat. Do not want to quit. Gasp.
whisper.
I do not trust my senses, these feelings of mud and muddy as the clouds that have blown smoke in my face, eyes, and to cloud my every breath ... and burn ... do not cry, no, I gasped and stopped.
You have driven me like you do with the flies ... and you're right: I keep humming without knowing where to go without a goal, there ... there ... and buzz that I do, but then I do?
What have I done ... what have I done?
I feel, you feel it, eh, do you hear? My words were never more blue.
Useless, useless is following you, reach useless ... useless to look for the words and saying it and push with my whole mouth, tongue and hands and stretch your arms and look for you in one breath and sound that echoes every time you smile. Amaro.
I go down. Cado tugged. Pushed to the ground.
I get up or at least I try.
Brancolo stunned.
... I put my dress without you I saw it when I was wearing ... without looking back and without being able to look ahead, I am qui dentro, nel buio dell’armadio chiuso, accanto al vestito
smesso…smesso…smesso…
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