Nightmares
Violhaine Larsen
I dream of you.
Nightmares, that is.
Cruel ones,
that pretend to be actual memories,
when I wake up.
I dream of hidden things,
of girls I know not;
of absence and abandonment.
I then wake up with all my fears stuck into my throat;
preventing me from speaking,
making it hard just to breathe.
I do not speak.
For hours.
Unless I have to.
Because I figure that if I'm silent enough,
maybe I'll slowly disappear
- slowly, and silently.
When it happens and last,
I'd truly love to shoot myself.
But I have no gun.
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· Il y a plus de 14 ans ·Remi Campana