Applying to something greater is easier
than getting down for you.
The air surrounding our brains is full of parallel runs.
It’s question of moving.
A question of ruling.
A drink on a glass,
A hole on the soul.
Working hard on playing rough
You will never get me…hurt.
I’m standing here nervous
By you.
I see your eyes hypnotizing
My thoughts.
Runaway from you is like
Walking on circles.
When I talk I even can’t ear me.
Concentrated,
I am on your breathing
Heart.
Vasco Pompaelo
A form of cultural prostitution and social suicide
