The loss of the suffering

teens fall they are often sick they are lobsters

soft inside

 

climb hierarchy

until the spot you’re useless

 

sometimes one misses the wind

walk under the rain

fingers touching

 

the dirty smell of betrayal

ghosts

 

when they say “stop thinking” they say “you bore us”

shut up is a should

 

missing :

to grow under gratifying watch

 

we all bloggers always say the same story

variations

 

the music you used to listen to with your father

tapes

 

someone who will always reassure you about how much you mean

dream dream

 

of an human relation which spares and can do without the suffering

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