#1
Hey guys, this one is quite extensive so I thank all of you who actually spend a little time reading it.


This Crescent Moon Wants A Piggyback Ride To Get A Better Glimpse Of The Sunrise


It’s almost two a.m.
as Kitty K’s scleras
are turning into
a lighter tone of venous.
She claims she’s not tired,
feeling the rush throughout my body,
but her eyes can’t fake anymore.
We lay in bed, making
lightly illuminated love
to the voyeur shine through
the cracks of the half-closed door.
She falls asleep on my arm,
while I am left with my
ever-shifting thoughts that seem
to refresh my mind in
an apparently random order.
I am not sleepy at all.

It’s three a.m. and my sleep
is sensitive like a new born’s.
Kitty K starts to sleep-talk
with the coherence of
a dream and I’m caught
in the middle of a tale
I can’t follow. I try
to turn to the opposite side
but the octopus tattoo
on her leg seems to have
its suckers binding my skin.
Still, we manage to cohabit
like two Siamese breathing
through the same lungs.

A little further in time
(or so it seemed, since the sheep
I was entertained counting
began to jump polyrhythmically
the fence of my mind)
Kitty K returns to her
nonsensical dialogue.
I want to answer,
or perhaps shut her up,
but my tiredness
has left me speechless.
I’m left to catch helplessly
my dream, climbing the walls
like a cockroach with jester rattles.

It may be a quarter to five
and I’m awakened by
a Kitty K who resembles
Gulliver; quadrupling
her size inhumanly
and leaving me on a battle of
balance with the mattress’s
edge. I ask her to shrink,
so I can fit somewhere
on her giant-ness, but she moves in
millimeters, like a lazy snail
diverting from a tiny rock.

At half past five, my leg
tumbles off the edge of the bed.
I startle, with anvils chained
to my eyelids. I try to catch
the last black sheep
who drifts away from me
with surreal agility.
I close my eyes and focus
strongly on that void darkness,
but my thoughts are haunted by
a badly awakened rage.
I just want to go back
to a forgotten nightmare.
Please, something or someone,
just get me out of this bedroom,
to a dreamscape where I can feel
lost and confused and relieved.

It’s a quarter to six and
I’m starting to lose myself.
I can feel my good old friend
sucking sleep like it has done
many times before. I toss and turn
more and more aggressively
until I scare Kitty K
back to this damned bedroom.
Look at this (sym)pathetic stupid
in stressing shakes, slurring
a speech at sunrise to a sleepy,
eyestrain’d Kitty K,
who blurrily gazes me,
back turned and tremblingly
clawing the pillow with the
weary strength I have left.

I’m sorry I’m going to ruin your sleep” – I utter with the dry voice of beaten, restrained anger – “I can’t get up because I can’t let my parents see me in this state of lunacy; especially my dad, who never quite understood my insomnias. He always blamed me for sleeping late, even when I spent four hours, sometimes for two or three days in a row, tired as fuck but unable to sleep. He’s always found a way to blame me somehow. So I prefer to let them completely out of this. You’re the first who inadvertently has to be dragged down with me to this, and I’m sorry because you don’t deserve it, but I can’t say much more than you’re in bad luck.

I want to hit my head
against the mattress, but that would make
everything around Kitty K quake,
and she’s already going through
a much worse hell than that.
I contort and twist myself, pushing
and throwing the sheets around
in the least violent manner I can.
I get up with the urge of punching
everything that surrounds me.
My head constantly repeating

Deathbed
This bedroom in which you’re locked in
will be the death of you.


Since I can’t make much noise
I turn against my own skin,
grabbing scratching pulling slapping hitting punching until my legs
give up and I’m kneeling in front
of the low corner of the bed,
with my head under my arms
against that wrecked mattress, motionless
like a slumbering sculpture,
disfigured and acidified
for resting over centuries
under that tart and toxic rain.

Suddenly, I feel Kitty K’s
weak fingers finding my hair
through havoc. This exhausted,
wonderful creature that should be
lost in the most comforting
dreamscape still manages to
caress me under such turmoil.
I zone out to find her lightly
illuminated uncovered body,
in the voyeur shine through the cracks
of the half-closed door. I place my head
on her belly and grab her legs
as if I am holding on
to an unexpected haven.

And then, my pulse decelerates.
And then, all the noise of the silent dawn fades
out, and, with it,
the voices in my head smoothly hush.
And then, the voyeur shine mixes
with my eyelids’ darkness until
no contrast is tangible at all.
And then, in the wavy respiratory
movement of her abdomen,
everything I smell,
everything I taste,
everything I hear,
everything I see,
everything I touch
is peace;
tormented,
chaotic,
simple
peace.