He comes to me, silently, friendly,
knowing what I want.What I need. Where I've been.
He rules me. He brings me to peace. I believe
I did it cause I wanted it. I know It's
the best. It's my path. My choice. My voice.
What I am. No mistake. No avoiding. Affraid? Never,
with rage. Clever. Just like down the road, I
cover this blank page with this ink
made of thoughts. Or not. But something is being
done. A boy is being gunned. No truth. No
lies. Just a fact. Like a sight. Burned. Brown.
Drowned. A lake of shame turns me on.
On what? In a Demon. No respect. No forget.
Be my fet.
Vasco Pompaelo*
