I make eyes at strangers, to stay in their head for three minutes

I can’t help but look back.

Nothing. Nevermind

Yes, they could be a potential friend, but only in the same way my sperm stain could be a potential son.

What I need is courage, courage on the battlefield of love.


Oh, that word? Forget Owen and his gang,

That is it, the old lie.

Well, maybe we could make such a concept together, this perfect stranger and I!

But soon we’ll come to realise I’m just a moth vs. a butterfly, Branston’s vs. Heinz, the timid vs. the bold.

If eyes told the truth, I’m sure I’d have stopped long ago.


So, what can I do but wait for them?

They who has no party trick or childhood nickname,

who can’t sip macchiato in flaunted style or win the fight they really should’ve won.


I want to become acquainted with some aproned waitress

And make a daisy-chain to loop round her neck. I want to sit still

without hearing all this human noise.

Noise which I have no courage to silence with a yell:

‘Amore, amore…the old lie!’.




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