riccardo d'avola
Adynamia II
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29 days
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Another ghost run out from my pillow
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Another ghost run out from my pillow
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Another ghost run out from my pillow
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Blind and full of rage
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Blind and full of rage
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Demon hands
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Exhausted dream
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Melted dream as plastic in the fire
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Melted dream as plastic in the fire
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No more desire in another moment
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Our silence
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Still in the surface
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The stolen words
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Workout and paroic

Words stolen from your dreams,
sleeping during the day.
Turning into nocturnal beasts.
We are losing vitality, only the reserves remain,
the smiles covered with tentacles.
Day 29.
Space is shrinking, hands clinging to me between the feathers of my blanket.

more and more narrow, more and more giants that suffocate us.

I see again the abyss in 4 square meters.

I saw your eyes reflect, a glow, but I no longer remember it.

The blanket is now your desert, at the mercy of a sea of increasingly gray and toneless dreams.

Alone...

Do you still resist with your idleness?
Or it’s turning into idleness. Is everything running out?
Maybe when everything will be covered by the sand blown by the winds
someone will find us buried by our hopes ...
Will we walk on the rubble of our worlds again?
How far will we be?
How lonely?
Our nostalgia is devouring us, by now a dry desire, it absorbs us and from the window we only see Orion disappear at midnight, the desires melt like plastic in the fire.

Distorted by training, atrophied by apocalyptic psychosis we are transforming into crazy and hysterical monsters.
Blind and full of rage. Like caged beasts ...
We can't lower the volume of the music anymore ...
We are drowning as 16 years ago, swallowed by a fucking reel ...
The vagueness of the way the world is moving ... I told you it shouldn't have scared us ...

but lucidity is fading away
we sail without oars no longer in the open sea ...
But the future hasn't bite us yet ...
Let's stop it isn’t time to make plans. We are waiting for something that has never happened in this storm