Vicious circle


Don’t get me wrong

We weren’t being us


Getting on the bus

He drew caricatures on the ticket

Between the thick Arial Black letters

Create a collage of papers

He run, always run through every dangerously obscure corner of the city

Feeling the sordid clouds embracing him

He was ethereal

Handsome boy looking for something intriguingly beautiful

Don’t get me wrong

He was young  

A kid of the future



Her photos described her tenuous skin

Rubbed with flowers and aromas

No effects of the past

In an imposing fluorescent dress

Reading behind his eyes

What could go wrong?


She turned around

At the moment of

Suffocated by his arduous eminence

His hair

His skin

His eyes

Everything was twisted


Didn’t look back. Jumped into the first bus that passed by. She crumpled her ticket and made a small boat.

 Sometimes he likes colouring his drawings, and then tear them. But now he remembered that he had to go for a run. He put his trainers on.


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