Should I write you a love letter or a death note
your love ties a noose around my throat
our love; I'll die for
a feeling so sincere, that I haven't felt before

Dear Bosco?
'I know not why I feel warmth with your
presence, I know not why I feel breeze on my face with no wind present'.
An improvisational line to woo, I suppose?
But without intention, if I were to swear on it I would,
something of my subconscious?

With the future's eye I could see why those lines formed the way they
did (The warmth was from the alcohol
but the tension was sharper than your teeth
scraping my tongue)
I told you about it, my mind knows me more than I know it,
to the point of punishing me for unknown wrongs in dreams,
it must have known you before your lips knew me.

I told you I was afraid to be myself,
but I swear on my dead body I was nothing
If not my whole self,
though subdued through sleepiness, I rather
would want to get swathed
and swayed with your warming flesh.

I could’ve sworn I died in your arms this beyond late
night,
But with your tender lips it rejuvenated life at the same
time, 'I know not why'

Did I clumsily forget to mention the errors in my thoughts?
Your mind surely should have told you.

You asked me what I was thinking while I avoided the
deathly gaze in your eyes,
I said, 'of us', to things of that nature.
I asked the same, you said of nothing, just of us now.
Are you here with me? Are you?

You cheeky doll.
A mint before commitment, a premeditated attack, an
ambush.
Though not of undesirability, an ambush still.
Forcing my hands to touch yours while we sat in tender voices,
nature, pool, city, and the wandering fellow, observing
My nature against yours, yours against mine.

Talking hopefully useful information to invest in, for
Future reference right? (I hope she is not testing me)
Exchanging hopefully meaningful gifts, a promise pick, and a
reference from me to your favourite love song, lollipops and crisps.
Oh, how I wish for it to remain a love song.

You talk of my band and I talk of your films,
'Just make like -- 3 songs, and the rest can be covers',
A ****** camera or a good one;
You preferred ******, it adds more character apparently, I say
It's cute.
The greatest pretentious exchange of art kids
Ever.

A brush on the shoulders, our minds' leaves caressing each
other,
A bold grab of our teasing hands with your notion,
You tuck my hair behind my ears and I get shy as I for one
hide my face with it,
I ask, why?
'I just want to see you'.

(Do you really want to see me? Me
with all of my faults, do you want to unravel me naked?
Do you want to see me ****?
Stripped off all my accessories that hide my paling ****** soft skin?
The soft '******' skin that is still scarred)

You close your eyes and with your lead I shall do no
harm,
The lips entertaining, the tongues befriending,
the passing of saliva,
(Does she not know I have a sore throat now, all exchanges
must have forbearance and reception)

With that exchange for 4 days, I've known her 4 years,
never have I felt intimacy to that degree.

Breathe in, breathe out,
In, and out,
Take me in, and take me out,
keep me in,
Let me kiss you quicker so you won't see
my face.

Your lips,
they hold me everywhere else on my face, (why does she not care of
its dreading spots)
nose, cheek, forehead, they appreciate you more than me,
I ****** on your fingers, must've been my
subconscious,
outwardly showing you my need from reciprocation,
and you learn fast as you send nerve signals I couldn't
have possibly ever perceive with touch like yours.

(Have I imagined her?
My subconscious torturing me once more,
conjuring the facsimile of my desires,
and punishing me with making you hold me)
They would not understand you
like I do,
till' they witness your might.

Take charge, take seize, but
hold,
Let me,
Let my teeth grab your neck
Let my hand touch yours
Let my fingers linger on your palm,
Let my soul erupt in your mouth,
Let me pin you on the railing, bear your hips,
Let me adore you

I wish I could've stayed, and I wished
you wished the same;
The short euphoria I experienced I needed, and I crave you
more now.

I could've sworn our bodies were one of itself in our last
draws of breaths
If you breathe mine in I will do the same
If I call you by my name You will do the same. (I hope
she calls no other
by hers)

With your malicious eyes, fuzzy brows, flaming
hair that hell cannot explain,
menthol lips,
With your uttered words: 'You poor boy',
You've made a lover of me,
An acceptor of me,
The talker of me,
The writer of me,
The dreamer of me,
A father of me,
The worrier of me,
The lover of me

'What would be the name of our movie be called?' I asked
as if I had not fantasised of asking you
a few days prior.
I hope you mean it, because like it or not, you've attached
this song to me as much as I've been attached to you,
(The cheeky girl played it before our reciprocal breaths)

And now here I am,
sad and craving,
in your absence.
I truly wish you meant what you said,
I truly wish you understood my heart when you
said it was beating so fast.

I must not suppress my emotions,
as Elio's dad says: 'To make yourself feel nothing
so as to not feel anything -- what a waste!';
So I will follow his advice as I've told you my
Father is but a *******,
My emotions are unsurpassed, unraveled,
For you,
These emotions I will never feel again, they
change, evolve, devolve, degrade, falter,
So I must recite it to my heart's will as you
know it beats fast for you.

I needed to write this to me, from you,
'Else I would be holding me hostage choking the remnants of
memories of you. I smile as I feel this grief.

I will not deny you, I will not deny me.
I will not deny your jaw,
teeth, flavour, hips, smell, eyes, brows, hips, breath
voice, passion, initiative, stories, mind,
love.
I will not deny my shivering jaw, my
sunken brows,
my aching belly,
my strained throat,
my dulling eyes,
my tricky mind,
my yearn, my
love.

So be it, I'll wait.
As our song states, True Love Waits.
The haunting echoes of his voice breaks me,
Do you love the song more than ever?
More importantly, do you believe in the song as you say it
is your favourite from the band? I
will play our song with your pick,
And I pray you learn it
with mine.

Whatever, I told you of the mess I am, or
maybe not (at the very least implicitly)
and I was just dreaming

This is not a closure, not acceptance, I will
go as you ebb.
Just, don't leave.
Don't,
Leave.

Dear _,

I’m writing this more for myself — a bold attempt to  let go of things carried quietly for too long.

Life. It’s hard, harder still when I’m tired, or hurting myself. On these hard days, the feeling of alone superseded the need to show up. But for the pieces of family that still matter to me. — for those who try their best to show up, for the memory of people we miss… In a world made of struggles, I never dare to ask for perfection.

A humble, tearful cry. I don’t want to feel invisible. I selfishly ask for love that means something more than shared dinners once a week.

N▇▇▇▇,
since we last talked, i wanted to tell you what you missed.

• truthfully, i wish you had been there when i was ▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇.

• i thought you would have wanted to know that ▇▇▇ to ▇▇▇▇▇ again.

• also i found out that ▇▇▇▇ is
▇▇▇▇▇ than i ever realized.

• do you still ▇▇▇▇▇▇ ?
do you think ▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇ ?

• i wonder, did you ever ▇▇▇▇▇ what ▇▇▇▇ ? did ▇▇▇▇▇ it? you must have, otherwise, you ▇▇▇ ▇▇▇▇▇ stayed.

• anyways, you also missed just how ▇▇▇
and ▇▇▇ i have ▇▇▇▇ the ▇▇.



and most of all, ▇▇▇ you ▇▇▇ don't truly ▇▇▇▇ deserve ▇▇ to ▇▇▇ know, ▇▇▇
not anymore. ▇▇▇

                                                     --M▇▇▇▇

Luci spente.

È rimasto solo un faro a
illuminare il centro della scena.
L'atrio è vuoto, a parte me
e qualcuno lì negli ultimi posti.
Il palco è freddo, incompleto.

E vorrei scaldarlo di nuovo,
senza voler seguire un copione,
senza aver paura di balbettare,
senza la paura che le luci si spengano,
di nuovo.

Manca però l'attore a cui più tenevo,
quello che ha dato una nuova vita
a questo teatro di infantili drammi,
per dare spazio a singolari commedie,
oltre ad arricchire i miei racconti,
e soprattutto apprezzarli.

E vorrei che tornasse quella luce
che saturava ogni sorriso,
che faceva brillare il silenzio,
che fermava per un istante il tempo,
almeno per concederci l'occasione
di un degno ultimo atto,
con la speranza che sia lontano,

lontano,

o, almeno, felice.

Written by tge hands if pain,
Thr decaying corpse of your being,
The kind that makes you wonder
Why you weren't enough.

Dearest Parents,

I don’t even know where to begin, because there’s so much sitting in my heart. Some of it heavy, some of it aching and all of it quietly waiting to be heard.

I miss you both.
I miss home.
I miss the feeling of safety I used to associate with your presence. Even when things were hard, I believed, deep down, that love was somewhere in the room.

But now… I feel banished. Like I was pushed out from the one place I thought would always take me in. I don’t know if it was something I did, or didn’t do, or simply who I am. But the silence, the distance, it’s louder than any words you could’ve spoken.

I’ve been trying to be strong. To hold myself up without the foundation I used to rely on. To believe I still matter, even when I feel forgotten. It hurts. It hurts in the kind of way that lingers, that wakes me up at night, that makes me question my worth.

Still, somewhere in me, there’s a small flicker of love that hasn’t gone out. A part of me that wishes you could see me. Not as a disappointment, not as someone to cast out, but just as your child. I’m not perfect, but I’ve always carried love for you. I still do.

Maybe you’ll never read this. Maybe nothing will change. But I needed to say it, for me. I needed to let these words out of the cage they’ve been in.

With love and sadness,
Me

I wrote suicide notes like love letters,
Maybe a bit too much.
Maybe a bit too often,
With those depressing words and such.

I wrote suicide notes like love letters,
Carefully chose every word.
Desperately trying to tell you,
That to me you meant the whole world.

I wrote suicide notes like love letters,
It almost felt like a crime.
Put my pen down like a weapon,
And glance at you one last time.