A Perfectionist in Rome

I’m lying under a breeze.
This could be better,
More comfortable.

I have the power to slow down time.
I relax my hips,
I’m letting go of this host.
Who is she?
It never feels like we are one.

Mirrors fascinate me.
I like it when she looks better than me.

Bed drowning in a velvety night.
Victorian bedhead,
trimmed with echoes past,
Full of moonlight,
Could be better.
Could change Time.

But I don’t want to.
I don’t want to do anything.
When is the end?
What do I do till the then.
If it is pointless then I want to cease.
Sail, gliding between dimensions.
Nothing hurts me.
Nothing to think about.
Is death like that.
Observe the cosmos as a universe.
Life is a game to play.
Sometimes it can all make sense.
Long projects to tidy history’s past.

Explosions of doubt overwhelm my horizon.
And it’s all pointless.
I do not want to play,
I’m tired, hopeless.
Don’t want to be happy.
I want the Nothing.
Death is to be nothing.
I want to be what I am.
Nothing comes from nothing,
Comes unto itself.
Power struggles in my universe.
Is god like me too?
I am 30.

Wish I could remember everything I learn.
Wish I feel all those things that I like.
Must I fulfil myself?
Why, isn’t it pointless?
Why know?
Why be aware?
You shouldn’t have given us wisdom, Lucifer.
That’s your sin, Love.

I am being punished.
I don’t want to suffer for your sin.
I never wanted this, in this way.
Unfair.
Forcing me to reinvent a thing of a past.
To write it down.
To constantly know that I will keep
break all boundaries.
To invent this world new genres,
New games to play.
Why?

I’m too picky.
I can’t control this.
Why must a perfectionist be in Rome.
Filthy, the magic buried and lost,
Truth daily raped.

This chocolate is perfect.
mmm, but could be better.
‘you made the best chocolate cake ever’
‘this is the best recipe I found, so far. It could be better’
I don’t care for chocolate any more.

In rome, in rome;
Tonight, tonight.
I heard you lie.
It has to make sense.
It has to, doesn’t it..
Of course.
Down through pathetic streets
of grandiose delusion,
of a delusional world,
I walk at night, too aware.
I feel different.
The setting is the same.
The time, too late.
Children and parents,
husbands and cafés;
Challenge accepted,
Promises exchanged,
The guilty and fake motivation,
I never received your invitation.
Healing nightmares
of old lies and tomorrow.

Am I gorgeous?
Remind me least I forget again.
And listen,
And taste the biscuit,
Motorcycles and delicious Italians,
Not in Rome,
Not on earth.

Consciousness forces me to imagine,
To be aware of the other, watching me again,
All of a sudden.
Learn to use subconsciousness.
Hear the message, in every distraction.

I was walking in the crowded night
In the allies of Roma.
I can’t lie.
I don’t plan to lie.
But the truth changes all the time.