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Toronto

Stuck on the other side of the horizon,
strolling down the lights of Spadina,
till the water’s edge greets me with its phosphorescence,
and the air of yesterday smells like pinewood.
A scent of something nice, lost in the fog.

Then,
amid the highest glass,
I find myself thinking what would’ve been like,
to be a son of the other side,
a child of the land of the never-ending fields.
Will I ever change?

All the time that sun shines and the warmth of its rays crosses my windows,
I feel like I’m still there,
standing on the platforms of Union Station,
dreaming of a brilliant future,
a simple smile from a cute face,
the revolution I am looking for.

Again, again, I climb on a tree to see the harbour,
save me from a prison of bombing,
take me on a plane,
14.000 miles from home,
the first hope in my heart,
like a plane on Lake Ontario.

The 7th

A life is gone,
a fighter, a light.
Tears get back into my eyes,
a sudden feeling of impatience,
while a subdued world flows by.
People kill the people,
then music,
adios.
Thirteen percent,
notes on the wall,
a straight existence.
I am proud of who I am.
I will love to love you,
Mfmfmfmfmfmmfffmfm.
Slam it!
As the trees whisper in my ears
I’m lost in the forest.
I am sure that one day I will find the light,
while he slowly murmurs that he loves me,
I know that you lied.
An organ plays in the background,
I don’t need you.
You expect something I can’t give.
She drinks, she drinks, she drinks,
she drinks.
Clocks are ticking,
our world ruled by time,
your smile high above me.
In the sudden loneliness of the 8th,
your illusions, the dreams that you think they’re broken,
the shame you feel.
I don’t care about it,
as the forest gets brighter you’re just a shadow in the blinding shade,
and you cried your desperation,
I’ve chosen the other path.
I get drunk,
I forget your face,
in the fog, in the light.

Fear of Love

Your face smiling from a diagram of lives,
I look at you,
I don’t feel nothing,
useless lust lost in the fog of this week,
Christmas lights flickering in the new twilight.
Time slows down now,
memories that give me nausea,
a face like yours.

Yours.
Y
o
URS. US. U. S. My shield.

Another voice.
Silence.
Beat.
Refusal.
Stay away.
No pleasure.
And I’m afraid of love,
My walls are high around me,
they will defend my bleeding heart.

A touch that hurts,
tears dried as we tore apart,
words written in a chemical madness,
your will to touch me.
Closure. Stay away from me.
Don’t make this shiny armor explode. *
I *
——————————————————— * * * *
Explosion.
And if you want to skim over my soul,
please do that gently,
then lay me down and disappear,
give me the best memory,
I won’t never cry for you,
but I will fly away.
No love lost,
It still feels hard.

And I remember once upon a time,
wasting lovers every night,
bored at heart,
needing tenderness on the surface,
I would have waited for you;
and if you think of me once in a while,
I will keep our dearest memories in my heart.

Düsseldorf

I don’t know what you see,
a frightened child,
a smiling sunflower ready to be caught?
I see the arms I used to love,
and I’m just reading out your words,
wishing to have another chance to be kissed again.

And I just wish a change of season,
looking through maroon falling leaves,
leaving traces on the ground,
leaving paths you can follow.
You told me to be strong,
but all I got is a voice.

Spectators of the turning of the tables,
standing still in the bruising poignant neon bedrooms,
violence all around us,
a gate getting closed by my grandmother,
her voice, her wartime stories,
fear, fascists bursting into her house.

Then I see a whore, in the daylight,
a sad story on her shoulder,
haggling with a young man about her price.
He drives away.
I walk by to avoid the sadness that I feel in my heart.
A dog is barking in the distance.

Then my secret love,
a passion dried out,
the world enclosed in my dark secret place,
how we laughed on that summer day,
how we kissed each other in the sunlight,
the sensation of living something somehow unique.

Then the hustling of the city,
the tower standing out against the blue of the sky,
a silver sphere where I would have liked to go,
curved houses erected on the canal,
a cold, freezing wind is howling,
while the sun sets and I walk away.

The heart troubles in the night,
I remember how much I longed for a sign,
and now I can just wonder who I am,
who we are,
caught in the whistle.
But in the darkness I recognize that something’s missing.

While I wait for a change,
as illusions fade away as the tether between us,
and I grow stronger and well-aware that you weren’t the one for me,
I listen to my father grumbling, crying out his own unhappiness.
His misfortune, the disgrace to have had a gay son,
the tragedy that he lives everyday.

I know that the wounds on my skin are healing,
as I write this lines the murmuring is just a shadow
and all I need is a warm embrace.
All I need are two arms protecting me from the world,
while I dance in my own tears,
and my feet freeze.

A distant world,
a blue sphere dancing in the blackness,
an immortal, unbreakable silence,
the prince and the patrol by my side,
looking for something to revive the magic,
in the valley of forbidden sounds.

The city pulses in its hectic life,
a million stories collide for a moment,
I see people talking,
and I’d like to know everything about them,
I see lips producing words,
and I’d like to kiss them all.

Then I see the lips that I liked to kiss,
then I remember our bodies touching,
how you confessed me your secrets,
then your smiles.
White blinding light,
the warmth I was looking for.

Northern Line

Watching him standing, holding is hands while people chat around him.
Then a club, some drinks, people talking nonsenses, a language I was sure to understand. My own weaknesses, the weaknesses I’ve never witnessed.
Did he told him about John? Sexuality. Intimacy. I’m ashamed of watching their bonds falling apart, as they travel by night through the lights of the city I once lived on my skin.
Alone, walking through it, surprised, but outside its own limits, separated by a red line I’ve not decided but real. I come from the other side, from another world, and my dreams of unity are crumbling down as their sophisticated speeches.
Bumper cars, a teenage regression, cotton candy in a transparent sack.
Shout at me, prove my old life that I was wrong.

Then, suddenly, silence.
The illusion of being good enough to understand what you’re talking about.
You were snorting it all, in front of me, wounding my soul like a razor blade on thin silky veil.
Read me your story.
I betrayed you, I fooled myself, spitting the drug right in my throat with your kisses.
Trashed on the sofa as you were throwing our love away, careless of such a violent act of freedom.

Will I ever be confident as you, detached from a thin barrier. His name was Paul.
The morning train, 5.30 a.m. from Euston Station, direction Nottingham.
My name on the seat, the 15th August, it was cold and rainy.
Obsession. Your cage, my freedom. The relativity of our own prisons.
I love you. It’s wrong, it’s disgusting. I love you. I just want to be happy, they want to be happy, two people standing in front of each other. I love you.
Our little projects disappearing in the night.
And I think I will leave.
And I’m free, I’m free, I’m free, at last, I’m free!
Three years ago, happy to be part of the crowd.

I’m free. Free. Cry baby! I’m free.

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