20 05 2010

After the peace the storm, again and again. I do fight even if the surface is calm and maybe only vaguely rippled.
There is a thin line, almost a fragile edge that would be wonderful to crash, screaming and crying, that would be liberating to fuck totally up to see what happens, to se the result of a movement of riot.

But then one would have to pay the price, isn’t it? So the strategy is simple and it’s all about waiting. Hiding beneath a curtain there is a ravaging rage ready to explode. How it will happen and when is not something I can decide. I’ll wait and wait for the right moment to fight back with all my strenght.

It’s a shame though that I have so little of it left. That all I feel sometimes is a deep shallow emptiness. Methaphorical point of a life spent doing the wrong things at the wrong time and then findint oneself old and sick of almost everything.

So that’s the war? Is that the demon to fight?
Ah no, please no. I can’t do it, I don’t have the strenght.
I am weak enough as I am right now.
With the wrong feelings in my chest, the wrong words on my tongue.
And a wish impossible to come true: the wrath of the distruction, the peace of the ultimate riot.

I don’t want to feel what I feel. I’m sick of myself every day more and more. I should run. Now.




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