that sadness is too much to smile carelessly, and then Pulling a living.
I always hated to hear my father's answer to the question "how are you?" He said-and-say all the time "eh, it goes on."
In my hand I love to answer "fine." Especially when it's bad.
And if really you should not even need to ask is, is obvious.
I can not even angry. If and when I do it because he still hopes for escape persist.
By now however I can not get out of the toilet bowl, trapped in the vortex of water and shit. Then you screaming to do. You never hear anyone. Or just those who could not hear and should hear.
And here we are again alone, with always too many things to think about, sempre e solo a parlar d’altro.
Ma quanto, quanto ancora dovremo attendere per un po’ di silenzio? Solo un po’ di silenzio, una carezza dolce.. ..abbracciami forte, dimmi che mi ami, mi ami ancora.. ti ricordi di me?
Ma quanta fatica..
E parlo con te e parlo con lui e parlo con lei e parlo un po’ con chiunque mi abbia resa stanca. Stufa. Annoiata.
I’m tired of fighting, fighting for a lost cause.
