My true self

If I don’t talk to you I forget I exist
This happens to me quite often lately
Sometimes I forget myself in a tram,
Or I am stuck on a chair with the eyes glued to a window that I can see absolutely nothing through

I leave myself in a book and I remain there alone, for a long time
Books are very sad when you deepen inside them because they have no exit to reality

Usually I amass the garbage from others’ lives and then I completely forget about me
I slink my mind through the bars of some very fragile ideas and I stay like this, caught between them, in a voluptuous numbness

Every working day I sedate my heart like this so that I could reach the peak of self-oblivion
A sedated heart is weightless, it can even levitate

I have no spare time to suffer,
I can rarely afford to taste the pain of talking to your absence
Or to play with your imaginary hands
To freely slide beside your shadow
To slip into your dreamed body

Your absence never lies to me, never tries to flatter me
Your absence never contradicts itself
Your absence is more vivid than your presence
Your absence cares more about me

Your absence is my true self
When I suddenly remember I exist
And I find myself swimming
Like a moonstruck
Through the everyday’s death.

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