A post from the couch. Tired. Inside the sofa with the world outside, the ceiling on his head and feet smell
a few steps away from you. Used shoes in which I lost on the steps taken steps of those who had already
we walked on. At the end we always end up with your ass on the ground
for joy, for joy. Feeling defeated is always better than
win some meaningless game.
Because in the end we will remember only the first and who has never won.
Dirty, sweaty, ill-smelling and beautiful. A promotional
thought that defines the boundary between the couch and the rest of
home, direct line to the bathroom. Basic needs, dreams away.
I'd sit all day with your ass in the wind on that throne
ceramic and plastic, without thinking, staring at a wall. Without eating, losing weight.
In some contexts, there is nothing and all necessary is due, even the possibility of being defeated
remains stalled. Reversing the trend
nell'ubriacarsi alone, with the sofa and some old thinking took
now on sale and maturity. In the head a great sea, a small
winter, a storm.
The lightning comes and then goes away, frightening the birds. Come enjoy
without respecting our smell of sweat. Tears fell from his eyes lost
defeats in a vacuum. There is always something worse
respect to his case. And 'the casuistry of the worst.
time lost to understand why there are unexpected meetings and smile
slaps in the face, smile because it is thought that wears well.
Serenity, who vivrà vedrà e chi no forse farà un salto nel vuoto, pensato,
goduto, voluto. Onanismi di getto, un getto pensato.
Perchè perdere ha un senso nel dar valore alla vittoria.
C'è chi gode con le coppe, medaglie e soldi e chi invece prova gusto nel far
tutto senza senso, pagando a caro prezzo il proprio peso.
Il peso dell'insuccesso.
Come quello che ho detto qui. Niente. Un niente che però hai letto, forse
perdendo tempo, forse no.
Ma devi ammetterlo, se non ti è piaciuto ho vinto io.
