The isles of numerous past mistakes 

​Could someone please give me sign 

Have I been wasting my time 

Wondering why, or waiting while 

The world passes me by? 

I never heard the starting gun 

And as I get old 

I feel like my soul 

Just grown up 

To feel let down

And I write and I write 

But I don’t seem to understand 

The messages I receive 

Or the lies I am told 

As I try to succeed. 

I’m not sure what I’m doing 

My heart tells me Avanti 

And I drown him 

On beer or whisky 

’cause you’re not here with me. 

And I realize everything I’ve done 

Everything I ever wrote 

Was yours;

It was your soul 

I’ve tried to write 

And my soul 

Felt so let down 

She asked me to love 

Some other girl 

But I’m broken 

And you’re in my mind always, 

So I can’t seem to get over 

And to find some other lover 

’cause yours had some much energy 

My body couldn’t take it. 

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The land of doubt and confusion 

​Like two planets 

That just collapsed 

Your soul entered my life 

Creating a thousand stars. 

Some of them shine 

At night when I feel lost 

And alcool poisoning talks 

And surrounded by fools 

I sit alone by the swimming pool. 

Some of them shine 

At 10 am 

With the coffee break 

Filling my veins 

With impurities 

And nostalgic memories. 

But what really wanders me

Are the stars 

That don’t shine

So clear in my dreams, 

Those who keep the magic 

Dust you used to feed me with, 

The one my lips feared

Every time yours it kissed. 

I wonder if those stars 

Will ever shine up high again

Or if your hair 

Dusted the magic pearl 

My heart held. 

A hundred and three women

​Someone once told me 

That he had sex with a hundred women, 

A hundred and three 

To be completely honest. 

Between beers and white sock whisky

I asked faithfully, 

‘did you love any of them? ‘

‘ I don’t even remember their names 

They were all one-night stands 

Setting up wasn’t even a chance’

And straight up 

he drank all his wine. 

As I ordered another 

For the little man sitting 

Right besides me, 

I asked myself the same question;

All those late-night two-weeks long parties 

Those crazy partners 

Those sick nights of sex 

Love, poetry and whiskies 

Were they worth it? 

Was I better? 

Did I love any of them? 

I do think I loved every single women I touched 

Even if sex never happened 

Even if it was all pure humanism, 

But was I bad for not reaching for more? 

Or that was the deal

In a bottle of whisky sealed? 

Truth is, I love every single woman 

They all have poetry inside 

And poetry calls me down every time. 

So, I ordered again 

And here we became friends 

As the clock gave five 

And time, as women, had us tied up.