Octopus ArmI twirl in different directions,
like an octopus arm -
Squeezing through the smallest gaps,
Altering my shape
whenever in need of survival.
There is no end to this nightmare -
self inflicted and infected cuts
Can not be healed or soothed,
by all the gold still left in my fist.
One street with a thousand men,
Able to solve it all -
Each one glances up but does not care,
Making myself invisible,
hiding my shank deep down like emotions.
Gliding through glass doors, as if on ice -
While you stress, spit, kick and rush,
But this is not my town to rescue,
not my skin to be peeled off.
I can not stop moving on auto-pilot,
Breathing gets harder -
All the oxygen masks are sold out,
Because the vendor quit
And the gate is now locked for merchants.
Little men, little men, where are you rushing to?
With all those millions in your pocket
And a warmed Maserati seat under your behind,
can't you spare some change for decency?
My three hearts are beating,
precise, like a Swiss clock -
They have no stories left, no imagination.
Taking on an alien form,
As if the universe was created under water -
My body becomes an object,
taking the tram, walking down the road.
Maybe all the scientist were wrong
And the planets are not above us?
Poetry by FrancescaLuca
Read 483 times
Written on 2018-05-20 at 01:07
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