A boy

Sometimes, I can see a boy walking on the street.
He has fair hair, he’s not so tall and not so small.
He’s wondering how he will make it through,
and why he has to be so alone.
Why at school everyone mocked him,
forcing him to a shell.

He was a dreamer.
He imagined, that he could’ve been able to save himself,
to drift on a porcelain raft straight into the clean purity of a cold blue night.
He was with his grandfather, and they used to play.
Shadows of memory, shades of a strong man,
his wrinkles as he was unable to see.

He grew up.
Because of time pulled out from a childhood that was an hideaway.
Trashed into a world where his dreams were not enough to be alive.
Where he lost himself,
hidden place, eyes, music.

His dreams were caged, and they’re drown out,
they’re faded, but they’re still there,
like a still life, like an unchangeable crystal,
safe in the depth of the earth,
but at the same time out of sight.

He loved him.
And he was scared.
He tried to be a friend,
but he became a foe.
Banished by the one he loved.
He understood.

One… Two… Three.
One… Two… Three… Four… Five…
One… Two… Three… Four… Five…

Just fake words to fly away,
and the Other was there,
murmuring at him,
menace, paranoia, separation anxiety.
Every day he listened,
betting for his life.

One… Two… Three.

Sometimes I see a young man,
he’s tired of living.
He’s tired to live a pantomime,
a recital, where he’s just on the background.
He’s gained a control.
He’s still trying to find a way.

The Other is gone,
but sometimes it emerges,
don’t know why, but when it happens,
he starts to scream and to punch his own head,
like a dancer out of time,
like a puppet who’s lost the clockwork.

Sometimes, I find that what’s written it’s so different from what I thought it would’ve been.
I need to figure out an image,
I need to wait ‘till I see him walking on a grey afternoon,
just ten minutes after the rain,
while I open the window,
breathing this.

Differences of behavior.
You don’t deserve those people.
They’ve forgotten to talk to you,
they’re into their dreams.
No, they think you’re a stupid child.

They can’t rely on me.
They think you’re just one of them,
a person without.
Am I really wrong?
All I wanted to write is that you are my star,
that I adore you, and that
I just want to belong to you.

There he is.
He’d like to jump there,
And while I’m trying to fight against the night,
I watch him.


Informazioni su erikberti

It's frankly hard to describe myself in this little space, but I'll try to do my best: I'm 29, graduated in fashion and design. I love to write tales and novels and to study languages... I love words, their meaning, their importance, the deepest emotions that they can create when they are close to each other, the stories one can tell with words. Yes, stories. I'm obsessed by the infinite number of stories that can be told. This is my personal diary, I will post poetries, writings and streams of consciousness, that will be probably gathered together in a collection. Thank you for following my dream!

Pubblicato il 12/10/2013 su Other. Aggiungi ai preferiti il collegamento . Lascia un commento.


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