Do not wait for the nightmare to end. It’s the truth, it’s not a dream, you can just die..
I feel like a fish when I am sad, my skin scales and the melted wind shakes it in the water, I walk around with popeyed idiotic eyes and a bloated body with attempts to forget, I cringe when I am sad, like the face of witches, like besom feathers that gather all the dust of chimneys. I stretch, like a crocodile’s jaws to swallow a river with its frogs and buttocks. Then I chew my teeth in the body of the barren land and scream from the drought.
I dry when I am sad, I dry.
I become ugly and repulsive
Like an abandoned house at the edge of the forest, visited by days like children in adventure stories, comes the feelings wrapped in nylon. On the ground, the plastic is glued, and the emotions are soaked in it, and the touches that we distribute on each other’s hands and shoulders, and the backs of each other, are washed away, while we push each other towards the last tunnel.
Imagine a house running with its ghosts and its broken doors into the light at the end of the tunnel. Imagine it diminishing its walls and closing its roof to the ground to walk in the tunnel, imagine the tunnel as long and long as a sarcastic laugh, and the light narrows and narrows like a memory.
Imagine a house that vomits a river, all of it crocodile tears, and fish with no colored bodies, only with sharp eyes, so grief is a long, endless nightmare, only death, is much longer..