the secret view through the blinds

behind venetian blinds and mirrors

I operate and hide my life

thinking about success and failure

in the darkest shade of grey

*

yet the city is still unmarked

by any of the primary colours

left in blurry non-existence

and then suddenly

*

I went down a secret path

to my little world as a child

spoiled, abused, and bruised

I was desensitised to suffering

*

now the pain is coming from everywhere

my broken back, ears, and throat

is it some kind of spell

sent to my adulthood?

*

“it tastes like mud”

that’s what the girl in the movie said

trying to eat a Christmas deli

sent by her unfaithful father

*

she, like me, never got bored

addicted to the night time

when times have been reset

to the point where

*

everything seems irreparable when

I woke up in my new life

made of the unstable frequencies of these

ebbs and tides

*

every time the water rises

every time the water drops, reminding me

that there is nothing like success or failure

unless we give a name to it

*

according to its meaning

wishing

to receive an equally

abundant reward

*

but that’s not a goal for all of us

while we strive for authenticity

in the modern era of bullshitting

everyone around the subject

*

of happening events and behaviours

like bees to honey

money, money, money!

when the artistic value is lost on the humiliating way

*

of writing about writing

writing about not writing

writing about the stupidity of society

although it’s not the same

*

because in the same magazine

we do not share equal values

so, everything seems fuzzed and fussed

among the uneven fine bleak points

*

June – September 2022

---

Thank you for reading!