I saw the uninhabited road, filled of masked figures,
I went to the kitchen, made a coffee, and smiled.
I took to the sheets and cried myself to sleep
I dreamt myself dead, flowers growing out of me.
I was watering my plants the other day, when
I realised that my plants were dead,
I imagine my dead children growing out of me.
I am staring at a masked figure and I don’t know. Should
I be looking for a face I know? Or a pair of eyes
I had once loved?
I look in the mirror and I look for myself, but
I see a masked figure staring at me. Tell me what colour my eyes are
I have not seen them in a year.
I have forgotten what it is to see myself in a mirror
I only see the dead masked figure.
I spat blood the other day, into the empty alley in my room
I still see the stains on my walls, nice little memos of ‘you’re going to die’, but
I died the day I called a sunny day ‘happiness’.
I stare at the masked figure. Call me by my name, help me trick myself
I am still the person I used to be.
I stare at the masked figure again, Tell me
What colour are my eyes?
Why do your eyes look like mine?
Why do your hands fit mine?
Why do I see you and remember a dead part of me?