D
Dominik
Member
- Jan 18, 2019
- 13
I press the trigger
Alone in the dark, with my past,
seeking to remember the joys and the reasons
for which I recount the monotony of this life.
More disarmed than the first day,
the white years of my youth
have let themselves be possessed.
As for the future! The future I dare not even think about it.
Empty is my life and yet I did not choose
the present is nothing but nothing ...
It all began surely the day I was born,
the day I did not meet the good fairy
who would have made me what I am not.
Those I sometimes envy,
those whom life has endowed with a chance,
but me unfortunately here, I'm not there,
and deprived of that, why should I fight a fight?
Anyway not worth it,
I know the story but I have no strength.
My love for life ended in a divorce,
I too dreamed of knowing the ideal idyll,
the desire, the passion not to lose the thread.
To leave the city at once, to isolate yourself on an island.
Instead, my life is spinning, sneaking and scrolling
homeless.
I always raised my head, even on my knees.
But tonight, I'm tired of fighting
and seriously think about disconnecting everything.
Winter put down his coat,
as if death were already there, close to me.
The cold lacerates my skin,
like this life, which I do not want anymore.
Lost in these thoughts, where everyone keeps pitying me.
That's it, tonight I'm going crazy, unable to escape my fate.
The stressed soul, the compressed brain,
as worn out by the war of nerves
to which I must give myself.
To suffer without pity, without respite, this is my life.
Gray seems the future and black is a color of my mind.
I do not try to understand, nor to make myself heard,
I am the flock with a number stuck in the back.
Subway, job, sanitized brain.
My ultimate escape is in the flow of these words.
Forty years of setbacks in the light of despair.
You can believe me that leaves traces in the mirror.
I have the affected neurons and the infected heart,
tired of fighting, of having to endure the inevitability
and the weight of a failed life.
That's why I isolate myself, why I stay alone.
Alone in my free head, free to be
a slave is beating a retreat,
fleeing this world of aesthetes by fooling my head.
OK, I'll stop, I'm pulling the trigger
Alone in the dark, with my past,
seeking to remember the joys and the reasons
for which I recount the monotony of this life.
More disarmed than the first day,
the white years of my youth
have let themselves be possessed.
As for the future! The future I dare not even think about it.
Empty is my life and yet I did not choose
the present is nothing but nothing ...
It all began surely the day I was born,
the day I did not meet the good fairy
who would have made me what I am not.
Those I sometimes envy,
those whom life has endowed with a chance,
but me unfortunately here, I'm not there,
and deprived of that, why should I fight a fight?
Anyway not worth it,
I know the story but I have no strength.
My love for life ended in a divorce,
I too dreamed of knowing the ideal idyll,
the desire, the passion not to lose the thread.
To leave the city at once, to isolate yourself on an island.
Instead, my life is spinning, sneaking and scrolling
homeless.
I always raised my head, even on my knees.
But tonight, I'm tired of fighting
and seriously think about disconnecting everything.
Winter put down his coat,
as if death were already there, close to me.
The cold lacerates my skin,
like this life, which I do not want anymore.
Lost in these thoughts, where everyone keeps pitying me.
That's it, tonight I'm going crazy, unable to escape my fate.
The stressed soul, the compressed brain,
as worn out by the war of nerves
to which I must give myself.
To suffer without pity, without respite, this is my life.
Gray seems the future and black is a color of my mind.
I do not try to understand, nor to make myself heard,
I am the flock with a number stuck in the back.
Subway, job, sanitized brain.
My ultimate escape is in the flow of these words.
Forty years of setbacks in the light of despair.
You can believe me that leaves traces in the mirror.
I have the affected neurons and the infected heart,
tired of fighting, of having to endure the inevitability
and the weight of a failed life.
That's why I isolate myself, why I stay alone.
Alone in my free head, free to be
a slave is beating a retreat,
fleeing this world of aesthetes by fooling my head.
OK, I'll stop, I'm pulling the trigger