just a few meters of parquet
and two wooden doors, poorly closed.
the old sadness,
the tears that have fallen and the ones that have not.
transformed in clay, in space,
all the knifes-words, with big or small blades,
all the screwdriver-words or the pocket knife ones
and the almost deadly ones, pistol type.
with opposite effect,
lies the big words, the effusions,
the promises, the stereotype phrases,
the fairy tale ones.
all the betrayals, the revealed lies
and the hidden ones,
the desire to change and the self retrieval one.
the differences of being, thinking, talking
become a wall.
Still between us
brick by brick
are stuck our own wounds,
fears, failures, cowardice.
Too much to climb…
Only some super powers
or the untraceable God
or the death
could bring us together again.