I hear voices. The same ones. Over and over again. I don't see them. I just hear them. As if the world had turned into a giant radio and only had 3 or 4 programs. They talk to me. They talk and break. Sometimes. They crack. Like the paint on the hearts that break. They remind me of chapters I had already completely forgotten. A dark room and a projector on. A child on the screen, making balloons out of detergent. A child spilling the detergent on the ground. Worms coming out and wriggling, and moving very slowly, almost stopping time. A labyrinth of colors that we will never be able to erase. The rain that mixes with the smile of the wooden clocks. The air that caresses your eyelashes.I feel tears falling on me. I taste them. Tears of fire that pierce my skin. Sometimes I feel the heat and sometimes the cold, but I can never feel the other. Maybe it's time to walk through the door and turn off the faucet so the river stops filling.
YOU ARE READING
I.C.U
General Fiction"Debbie Harry and Kurt Cobain; Luca Prodan; a city that burns; a freckled girl who leaves; a war on a mysterious island and a cursed writer are the flashes that run through the mind of a teenager who suffered a motorcycle accident."
