These are my last words.
At least they were, before I wrote these.
On the other hand I am already dead: a dead man who thinks,
This is my last breath.
I still do not die,
the curtain still does not rise,
What a bang.
A whole life, infinite, stands still around and in front of me.
But I have already finished the accounts, the box is closed.
Once again I open the envelope and add more moments, faces, smiles.
Wait, the bell rings, a new customer arrives.
Will he bring gold and riches,
wind or storm?
He smiles at me and I extend my hand.
“Let’s sit down to drink, don’t you smoke?
Ahahahaha! That one, yes, it was a night “.
Then my friend died. So it was only me, alone, getting drunk and throwing up words in a language that only he and I kept alive.
I can still see the soldiers parading at the mall
loads of weapons and hate.
Loads of nothing and boredom.
I am surrounded by nothing.
If only I could blow up my bones,
then yes, I would be reunited with nothingness.
But I’m still swimming with big strokes. Great is the effort, I try not to breathe all this air.
Tight at the neck, the tie knot suffocates me, wet clothes are quicksand.
Now I gonna cut the rope: I’ll let drop all the mannequins that followed me in the climb.
The blade rubs on the rope, again
Damn gravity, everything turned upside down.
I had certainties, I was sure me was myself.
God, what did I do, I killed my innocent soul.
I’ll have to make myself up, or build an alibi.
Perhaps a lawyer would be useful.
The hearing is removed,
Another rope, another cut.
I lose my breath, I come back to the surface.
Is that a beach, far away?
The sight is sharp, but the wind blows the thin sand of time straight on my irises, already surrounded by a halo of blood.
I thought I was dead, but they came to my aid.
They shoot me from the top of their sails, with their sparkling rifles.
It’s the end. Closed in a cage I am a storyteller.
I’m already a great classic,
a museum piece.