Little Realities

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I build little houses,
Little realities,
Like picture frames of my dreams.
We coexist there,
And sometimes we intertwine.
But in all those places, we are happy.
And maybe because we're happy there, we aren't here.
There is too much to wreck
Too much damage done.
Sadly, I cannot find anything to save
There's nothing to salvage from the ruins.
And all I do is drift, search for your face among the stream of corpses I meet everyday.
They tell me the most interesting stories,
Explaining eloquently how they died,
The moment they knew it was happening, and the terror they felt while it happened.
The corpses and our conversations, all tell me I'm lucky to be alive.
But when i'm with the living all i want is to be one of them.
At least the corpses bear no strings.
At least the corpses dont pull on them.

cb

Mind CircusDove le storie prendono vita. Scoprilo ora