madness

Sometimes I feel like a stranger.

I come back home and I do the cleaning. I put everything in a perfect order, books according their size, clothes according their colours. I need it. That order is a poor substitute of peace. I care of it, because there’s chaos in my mind. I’m immersed in a mess.

I sank into lethargy. I can’t go on. Even when I have a decision to make, I prefer to toss a coin. It works. Sometimes, during that short moment when the coin is in the air, I realize what is that I’m counting on. But sometimes I don’t. I let it fall down. And I don’t care.

What are  you doing? No, what are YOU doing? I like talking to myself. There comes a time when I have a chance to do the right thing. I love those moments. I like to wave at them as they pass by. And even if I could, it would all be grey, and I don’t need your picture on my wall. Because yes, it’s so bad.

I knew many people, but you always knew them better. You even know better who I am. And then I stopped talking to them. Stopped seeing them. Because I believed you, because I trusted you.

They betrayed, I’m your really true friend now, they betrayed, and I’m forever there.

You’re my truth telling lies. You’re inside.

Open your eyes. I’m you. Sad but true.

When I look into your eyes, I see a stranger. Not inside you. I see my eyes reflecting in your eyes, and I see that foreigness. Yesterday I told you to look deeply into it. After a few minutes you told me that you couldn’t stand it, that it was like you were looking into the eyes of an extraterrestrial, of an animal, of a madman, of a nutcase. 

And I am all that, I suppose.