pretty story

I could tell you a pretty story
without pain or misery
like a fairytale
sweet like candy
betrayer like sugar
that puts you high
just to fall like the rain from the sky
why?
Why we must always hide
the angry, the pain, the moment of clarity
that overcome the futility
live without illusion
sober people aren’t real
pain is real, something that you can feel
don’t get me wrong, the feeling isn’t guilty
our illussions, desilluions
send us to a dreamscape,
making us forgetting
that dreamscape are just quicksand
end of story

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part of the whole

People aren’t real, when they are sober…
your lack of wisdom
don’t need be explained because you aren’t older
it’s easy to find the reason
all your attention
you spend with the wrong motivation
likes and shares
do you have any idea of who really care?
Good for you
if you don’t give a damn about all this kind of weirdo
but if you do
don’t get mad or sad
you are just part of the whole

Scion

You played that role for years
abusing the good will of the others
fake smile and cold hug
how do you dare call them “brothers”?
spilling your venom thru their ears
turning to gray a life full of colours
you made this game a drug
and your addiction made you the lion
without a kingdom to rule, scion

Illusion of Relief

Why so much confusion
about the deepest fears
about the illusion of relief
under our fake smile, only depression
even the warm sun can’t make these black clouds disappear
sound so familiar this kind of confession
you can read this lines
in a thousand profiles
around the globe, around your neigbourhood
sad to see, even more to listen
“it’s just a phase, it’s just a bad moment”
cuts, tears, suicide letters,
a lot made just to ask for help
forgotten, because this kind of behavior
don’t look so well…

Guilty by

I’ll accuse myself
guilty by the pleasure
of being sad, mad, stand
in the same place that you can find
a paper, ink,
letters about dreams and nightmares
sketches about me and a perfect place
where pain doesn’t exist
God, the real one
don’t need to think about punishment
and us don’t need to pray and live in constant lament
about the maleficant
moment that God look down and choose one of us
to prove his existence
excuse, excuse
I’m realy sorry, but this place
have no meaning to exist
and even if could
you would not be invited, sinner like you are
this place would burn faster than a simple blink

Zombie Inc.

Like a worm hunting a warm place
to keep the unique thing that have sense
the will of living, the need of breathing
you just keep searching
the perfect match, the (sick word) “crush”
sad to say, or glad to not be part of this
I must say “keep going”
what could be more important
than find heat to warm your cold chest
a hug to protect you from the evil nest
that are this real deadly world
gone, sold, gold, poled
stuck in a river
made by your own tears
so let’s toast for this, cheers
like a worm that need live
you choose to be
just another pathetic zombie
without meaning, just hunting bodies in a touch screen