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Winter 2016: A cold hutong house, Plastic bags full of baozi, Root beer and cats. I'll never be as pure As your confused eyes That night, when I cried For her – but I kissed you.
pensieri in corso
Winter 2016: A cold hutong house, Plastic bags full of baozi, Root beer and cats. I'll never be as pure As your confused eyes That night, when I cried For her – but I kissed you.
The trial in my head Goes on and on. Dissecting the past (At a leisurely pace) Is penance in itself; But only if I believe it is.
Low clouds and drizzle A subtle dread sticks like grease Unease at something untold Ungraspable unshakable But feeling isn't enough Even to write a stanza
Aridi pensieri ingarbugliati Bianco grattare di geiger impazzito. Senza catarsi emotiva C'è solo un triste presagio E una domanda ostinata Orfana di risposta.
You left And the things you left behind They still carry your joy An echo of distant laughter That will not come back And the happy sadness Of times that used to be.
Solo dopo molti anni capisco: Quel che chiamavo amore Era il desiderio di liberarmi Dalla sofferenza di volere.
A singing silence tingles my nerves, Feminine, aimless, wistful. A nameless desire commanding attention, Earthly and soft like a pink orchid.
Twinkle twinkle little Star How peaceful you look Every morning from afar
Chaotic discharges And fragmented visions Flash past my eyes In the mind's night. Drawing another breath; This will pass, too. (With an Ibuprofen)
Allowing my fantasies To float and flutter freely They play like a child On a warm summer day Ready to rend my heart Should I fall into claiming them