Ze is waar
naar huis wordt gedragen
als een trofee.
met buigend graan
voor de melancholie
en het verlangen naar dromen.
In de stad waar de zwarte rijen
altijd marcheren of wachten
voor kritische blikken.
Voor een avond
met een artiste
met zwarte ogen
en bahkouet en qroewasant-Engels
maakte ik ons belachelijk.
Maar na de avond
had deze sneue Gedweederlander
en dingen enzo.
“You made me cry,
thanks really, this is not funny.
I was believing you so much,
I trust you so so much..
it’s a nightmare that you decide.
I cant understand, why did you do this to me,
did I deserve it?
No I think no,
I was simple and honnest..
everything that I confess to you
were just shit for you so.
I was hoping that you
will said something to me (even in stupid sms).
I dont sleep since because of all of this.
Now I forced myself to sleep.”
“But please I just hope that you
have a little bit of pitty for answering me.
Im sad that you go,
I want to stay with you.
In the case that you never respond me,
I hope you will love the poem of Rimbaud.
I would like to tell you in French.
And I remember
what you said to me
“that we gonna do a poem together tonight”,
is this was a kind of lie?
You were not obligated to said this to me.
I which I love to do this with you,
but you just run away
and I don’t understand why,
I cant find logical reason
(and maybe it’s because they is no logical reason?).
But I know that the things
I feel for you are true.
And now, I know that why Im sad.”