When there's nothing left but silence // When my mind has lost its narrator // When darkness rules and sadness trembles //something beckons, come with.
These Pants Were Made for Walking
You're still alive // but you're fading fast // it's because you can't walk // that you'll never wear them again.
Thine Own Self
I'm here, just like you, but you're not like me // You're part me, and mostly yourself // I know I speak in riddles but it's because there's one hidden here: To thine own self be true.
Tick, tock, goes the clock // Paying no attention to my pleas // That it should do a somersault // Curl up into itself // Finally find some rest.
I didn't want to, but I did // Held it, held it - yes, that's it! - until it faded // When it went, no one missed it // but me.
There's a heart in every woman // known to all by another name // something that can't be fooled // a thing that never breaks.
This Soil of Mine
There's something here, out there // Something here, of mine // For someone who didn't belong // a place there was, for me.
There's something I can't say // Something bothering my mind // Where's this going? it asks // Churns, burns, turns in circles.
What is sanity? // Is it to tether on the edge of consciousness, leaving only crumbs to decorate my footsteps, following the imposed rules and regulations one by one until my soul dies a slow and quiet death?
Ode to Memory
The air is full of words // travelling from here to there // The world is full of colours // waiting to be stored. // The mind is full of pockets // brimming with possibilities. // What present could be greater than the gift of imagination?