If I could talk to you,
I don’t know what I’d say,
i don’t know what I’d do.
Maybe i would runaway,
probably you’d do it too.
Still thinking about you sometimes,
I know it’s wrong
All my crimes.
I’ve ruined it,
tou and me,
Now I can see,
What I can
And cannot be.
Sure, from this, I want to break free.
Yes, If I could talk to you,
as you could listen to me,
so utopian…
This is why I write this poetry,
the dream I carry.
For the rewst we’re lost into apathy
And madness
With all its anarchy.
I have often been a bit of a coward,
maybe, at times I thought instead
that some things were best left unaddressed.
Maybe I ran away from the ungo,
maybe I’m still doing it.
Perhaps not having had the courage,
or the strength to face certain things,
I “dodged life”.
In the end I too,
they are a bit torn along the edges.
I also never knew anything,
and I never understood what to do in this life,
and I did nothing else
than wanting to run away.
Go away,
from here,
from this sad land.
Go away,
from fear,
and anything else,
you can’t stand.
Goa away…
From this place,
you were born here,
this is where you got
your face.
It would be so easy
To forget your dramas,
just going away…
and all your traumas.
Lo scrittore Volante 