Champagne supernova

How many special people change?
How many lives are living strange?

How may special people change? Have I? Was I ever special? Is this nostalgy that follows me like a starving crow ripping my shadow the one that creates me into one? Am I unique only in the measure of my suffering? Why? I do not wish to be tragic, just a little bit, enough to be admired, adored. This is my world, the one of worlds that feel so ilicit, just because it's my language and not yours, never yours.

Do I miss her?, him? her? him? I've always wanted to bond so deeply with people that our hearts will melt into one big mass of veins and tangle of feelings, I want you not to know which is your mind and which is mine. I want you so irrevokably mad, glowing in darkness, filled with eternal bliss, joy happiness and just a taste of melancholy for romantic purposes.

Yes I want us. With all my heart if there is an organ that feels instead of touching, I want and I just want, to dig into my guts and make a knot to yours, I want to dig in over and over and over and over and over, and never find the loose end, because there are thousands, because everything is too little or too much. I want to be unable to contain my mind, to ahve it spill on pages and acts and words of nothing and everything and I want a fake assurance of eternity, at least in an echo.

I want everything that I was before without everything that was before.

I want my community of strangers, though only into dreams and wishes and stories written on porsches and cherry pie and lemonade. Why do I dig lives away from mine?
And why can't I write anymore?

Has my ink dried out? eventually...

Where were you while we were getting high?



What the matter with you? Sing me something new...

"Then she took him by the arm and said, let's explode into an eternity of art and tragedy overwhelmed by joy and passion, let's become one huge champagne supernova, and look for each other forever through astrological dust..


So sing me something new.