I live in a cone
of other people's memory,
an unexpected shadow.
My voice over time
will disappear
like a suspended echo.
The alternative
is just agony
flowing with memories
and I know how to do
even what
is scaring me.
The courier of children
searches and takes away
painful moods
and fragments
past, present and never,
never any future.
The alternative
it's just agony
flowing with memories
and I know how to do
even what
is scaring me.