It was no more no less no thing but a dream he would love to drink some thing some water some wine no thing more but -Stop- his lips are missing the water turns red the water turns blue the wine turns into water he wakes up no coffee mugs no biscuits just goodmornings made out of blood all is less never the less is more than ever he closes his eyes again no dreams not any more no dreams not any more he blinks he craves for her with every blink a memory disappears, he forgets her face, her name, her thighs, her lips next to his bleeding on the floor.
No thing to think to drink to whisper no flesh to kiss no more kisses in the mouth he said so before he thought so; no words worth telling he blinks again he aches more his yellow eye falls on the floor someone steps on it while dancing the sun is gone the moon turns bright the night is falling again and again and again he wants to see her just once. He’s falling like the night. Oh darling. She says.
There are no more kisses in the mouth no more stories to tell not even one to be written no more anticipation forgotten in the veins not a single note not a single hope no fear to lose one’s self no books on the shelf no secrets in the drawer no more ghosts in the closet; no more longing for innormality for great frauds and great laughters not at all.
He waves obsessively a rug through the air; left arm but no hand left; travels around the big city waving from the port to the railway and back all the way back waving constantly drown in the waves tied on the rails he will be repeating himself to the end of the world he promised so he promised so he promised no need to check in out copied.
He sings a Frank Sinatra song then he turns his left eye yellow and begs her not to leave for this is not enough this is not enough it is suffocating it is like a stone on his chest like he swallowed a stone and it stuck in his chest not lower not lower not a single breath not a single note any more just colored papers everywhere blue- unlike his eye- and green- unlike nothing- he likes nothing not anymore and in the middle of the next night grass turns into sky the sun turns into his eye and the other way back takes his way back nobody sees and the other time everybody sleeps remember the other all of them sleep the others who were all these people sleeping in his bed; an exit is there has to be an exit it is real really real an exit with no door a freedom with no frame nothing but silent lips on the floor nothing but silent hips on the bed they move back and forth swing like hell a purgatorium with no reason with no reason with no problem at all get off now just get off me. He says.
Someone else is constantly repeating himself shouting It’s not me; It’s not me another one steps out of the crowd and stands across they look exactly the same they look exactly at the same spot at the same hole nothing left nothing right not a single note they wish to become something that does not remind them of what they used to be.
In vain; he is moving now someone else is thinking of coffee and biscuits but in fact of death reminds him of someone like the one he used to be; he kindly asks her for a lighter his lips are falling on the floor someone steps on them while dancing he apologizes it was his mistake a glass breaks silence then blood all over no memories just glass; the clock is running backwards when the night comes switches to fast forward; rain keeps falling someone finds himself inside someone else they fight then they hug forever then one gets off at the next stop.
He gets on a bus that comes always on time; a seat is always there it ‘s eternally longing for him he has to sit down to stay safe he has to take care of himself he has to he always carries a shiny box he keeps thoughts and senses a fortune a number of zeros always always but somewhere has to be an exit; there has to be a magic point where all the other points meet where everything meets an opening to the outside but –Stop- what is the outside an emergency exit someone can see it while images disappear passing smoothly from the window as rain follows they are not there anymore but they were real really real he saw them; someone may see them again someone knows where all these ways lead to someone can find new streets to get lost in–Stop- in this line of human bodies he keeps dreaming of her body. I love you he says but the seat is not there any more. -Terminal.