Thuỷ thủ

Days gone by.
          I want a gentler heart.
          I want a simpler time.
          Days gone by.
          Everything has fallen into the realm of meaninglessness.
          
          A life without power is a life without freedom itself.
          I want to believe that I am untouchable, unbreakable, infallible.
          But this is life,
          So who knows?
          
          They took away everything,
          These harpies.
          My life.
          His manhood.
          
          Shining silver blinds the eye.
          Girls like us know the pain and the silent suffering.
          Girls like us know life ain’t no fairytale.
          It ain’t no dream.
          
          Every girl’s for herself.
          They don’t pay my rent, my bills, my bank interest.
          They don’t put food on my table.
          They don’t know what it’s like slaving away day after day, from dusk ‘til dawn.
          Money talks, after all.
          
          The truth is frightening.
          The truth is comforting.
          The truth shall set us free.
          
          There’s not a single man I love in this life.
          Not one.
          They’re all lies.
          It’s all for attention
          
          Powerless little boys,
          Why are we like this?
          Powerless little boys,
          That’s all you’ve ever been.
          When did life stop being a dream?
          
          The truth will set me free.
          The truth is: we’re all slaves, prisoners.
          Absolute liberty, where?
          
          I fell for a weak man.
          I fell for a false god.
          And they fall for greed, every time.
          It would be a laugh to parrot ideals and idealism.
          It’s all self-interest, baby.
          It’s all about money.
          
          You thanked God that it is over.
          Did you thank God that it had happened?
          Some vixens seem to take pride in making others’ lives miserable.
          
          He struck up a conversation, out of nowhere.
          And it went on, and on, and I was bored but I pretended to be interested.
          It was a life story, involving lots of broken men, lots of alcohol and lots of hardships,
          And places faraway from home.
          
          I have the pride of a man,
          And the asininity of a woman.
          I get the world, don’t I?
          Big, big world.
          We’re not built for hatred, are we?
          How do they do it?
          
          I pick up pieces, here and there.
          His voice,
          His looks,
          His demons.
          I’m building up a broken robot,
          All in the name of unknown ideals.

He was so grand, you know.
          A symbol of freedom and defiance.
          But in the end, his demons caught up to him.
          
          Do you remember what it’s like to live life fearlessly?
          Never having to look over your shoulders?
          I used to be so young, so sober, so sane.
          There wasn’t a temptation I couldn’t walk away from.
          
          I’ve been so far gone,
          I choose to see myself through the eyes of a broken man.
          D’you know what it’s like to be the outsider to your own life, love?
          D’you know what it’s like to be the stranger in your own town?
          
          “It is the ultimate middlefinger to fate.
          Because deep down, we’d all rather fall with purpose than live with none.
          Every man wants to believe they would have the courage to do so.
          While in reality few do.”
          
          Why has life lost its charm,
          And worse: its meaning?
          I don’t just want the man.
          I want the hunt, the life.
          
          Now that I’ve become just a caricature,
          And my dreams are all dead, dead, dead.
          I can’t win this eternal war,
          Struggling against what I am and what they expect of me.
          
          A familiar hell, or an unknown heaven?
          A familiar devil, or a foreign god?
          Twenty-six years young, and now even “good” is not enough.
          What is, then?
          
          There’s a man in the next-door apartment.
          He would stand there, cigarette lit, staring down at the city below.
          There’s a man, sitting on the floor in the bookshop,
          Indulging in dreams of faraway places with his child.
          
          Every girl’s for herself,
          So let he who is without sin cast the first stone.
          Every girl’s for herself,
          That’s why I stopped expecting the world to be good long ago.
          
          This life it ain’t romantic or free.
          What’s a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?
          I have one wish, one wish in this life and nothing else.
          I wish that people saw me for who I am, not what they want me to be.
          
          Do you mean to tell me that I will never find gold in this life?
          That so many goods thing that should have happened never did?
          I want the handsome man with the strong, tanned arms.
          No, they didn’t break me.
          They did not.
          They could never.

“A brave man dies only once. A coward dies every day of his life.”

“It’s nice to die for what you believe in. Who is afraid dies everyday. Who is not afraid dies only once.”
          - P. Borsellino

Like sands through the hour glass.
          These are the days of our lives.
          There’s one thing you should know about me, sweet’eart.
          I don’t compromise.
          Nothing less than the fantasy.
          
          Different roads are for different girls.
          But dream man,
          What are you?
          A fantasy?
          Freedom?
          Maybe you are pride.
          Maybe you are “living life unapologetically”.
          Shouldn’t we all?
          
          He lives for the hunt.
          The glory.
          The game.
          And I wandered alone at night,
          Begging for something to happen.
          Begging for this life to go away.
          Begging for fate to reach down and touch me.
          Begging for a man to sleep with.
          
          Green, and red.
          Meaningless words on the pages.
          They used to hold so much meaning.
          A monster, or a martyr?
          I believe he is both.
          
          When my life goes down the drain,
          Always, there is a man sent down from heaven.
          He will ease the open wounds.
          
          Prideful girl,
          Full of wounds.
          Still, she marches on towards the inevitable death.
          For the first time in months,
          Life holds some meaning again.
          
          You’re one of a kind, in this world or others.
          Maybe it takes real guts to know that you’re marching towards death,
          And yet you march on, anyway.
          
          One tough cookie.
          I didn’t know what I was made of then.
          I do know what I am made of now.
          But if you were me, you’d know.
          Righteous or irredeemable, a man can be distracting still.
          
          One oligarch after another,
          Each promises the working man a paradise.
          But the idealist is gone,
          And the brave new world never came.
          
          You need to hear this, darling.
          None of these bastards can save you.
          So if you have to do something,
          Do it for yourself.
          
          “What was the point?”
          I asked all the gods and all the devils.
          No, really, nobody gives a shit about my demons.
          Because I also don’t give a shit about theirs.
          
          I ain’t ever gonna get a man who looks like that, right, mom?
          You know to me, a life without purpose is worse than death.
          You know I’ll never stop chasing the dream.
          You know I’ll never settle.

“The wars will end and the leaders will shake hands, and that old woman will remain waiting for her martyred son, and that girl will wait for her beloved husband, and the children will wait for their heroic father, I do not know who sold the homeland but I know who paid the price.”
          - Mahmoud Darwish

“When you know your purpose, there is no hesitation.”

“The dead don’t suffer. That’s why you and I are still here.”

“If you control what people believe, you control the world.”

"Ideas don't determine who's right. Power determines who's right.”