balloon

cars rushing heavily down the street,
indifferent noise obtruding itself,
fear creeping in
under small coffee stains.

salty taste
growing on skin,
foreseeing absence.

stretched on faces,
a different morning fog
and between two adverse gazes,
a projection of myself
running away as fast as possible.

estranged bodies
losing their heat,
killing time
inside a short dream
waiting to expulse them.

iridescence

strange unhandy feeling of rushing through doors 

that open and close in a flash 

as reality undoes its filmlike texture

to let the mind become tied up to a single moment.

lurking in a state of surprise,

the desire to reveal the unutterable sequence 

between the bliss and the accident,

when pleasure breaks down and the killing begins,

the iteration of the unavoidable sting.

the wish to wander attentively, just for a while, 

in that cheerless setting, both beautiful and vulgar,

drawn to wistful faces on the brink of attack

and panicked at the recurrence of sweet useless music

and perfectly imagined cityscapes that promise nothing.

and, instantly, 
the outburst of not wanting to go back, 

when all that lies ahead 
has been breathed, soaked in and worn out.

the protagonist is a nameless figure in a long line of unplanned guests.

he/she waits at the end of black and white,

full of doubts and oddly eager.