I’m tracing my path with the tips of my fingers
Each day it’s fading
More distant behind me
A feather tumbling down into the void
Faltering under the weight of my existence
Caught in the whirlwind of my desires
My soul’s wearing thin
Like a melody in the morning
A habit of the heart
A glass that can never be filled
A hole with no bottom
Blinded, blind, blinding
A kite stretching far, far, far… surrendering
A sheer, yawning crater
Divine apoptosis
I pierce through the clouds
And hit the ground
Onto the scorching magma
My skin, charred, cools
In the duvet of your body
Giving rise to sweetest sweat
One more adventure, a drop at a time
With eyes blindfolded
I’m running breathless
In my box of white sand
I search for my country
And so it begins again…
Dear mélancolie
A poem by Manuel Mathieu
