He brought me coffee in the morning as we ignored the church bells and forgot about the dust on our shoes.
We will sing to the infinity of the present and abandon the illusion of a future. Franco "Bifo" Berardi.

I have a tendency to feel trapped.
But you look like you belong here, dark hair and white skin. You've come home.
I hope you stay, he whispered.
I'll shave my head.
You're fierce cute.
The enemy looked kind through three faces.
Ignore the strangers in the shadows. Inhale the dust and the thrill.
Mind the broken glass.
On hands and knees, beg for the question to your answer.

Curl up, take the gift and drift away.
One and one equals two. So surely two minus one must equal one. But it's not. It's one minus two. And we go into negatives.
My life will be a museum of remembered smells without names.
I talk to the moon, I talk to my God. I talk to my God, I talk to the stars.
I am, essentially, a coward.