Cold, empty hands ... So, Tell nothing to the one who told all- The all that is never all told, those words made of velvet whose colour no one knows...

Everything, except boredom, bores me.
I'd like, without being calm, to calm down,
to take life every day
like a medicine ---
One of those medicines everybody takes.

I aspired to so much, dreamed so much,
that so much so much made me into nothing.
My hands grew cold ...
From just waiting for the enchantment
of the love that would warm them up at last.

Cold, empty
Hands
Without 
Alcohol