Wastelands

Mais je sens que tu as voulu répondre à sa violence, comme une sorte de vengeance. Que tu as combattu sur son terrain, avec son monde.
Gmail, message, 15 août 2012

I think I might remember the things I felt when I felt them
then I left them slip away, pressing my analytical fingers on my eyes to shut their lids
sinking into the cloth surrounding all the flesh I couldn’t bear to face
breathing my way out of all sensations

When my knees start to brake against the wooden floor, when they turn from white to blue and brown I know
but my back is always asking for more, more liquor, more sores, more skin to board reaction
but my head is always turned inside out, wondering around the cracks in the wall, trying to escape
forgetting the things at stake

I once dreamt of a car in the sunshine of an early summer night, everything was pink, yellow and blue
I was the driver because only I can be, everything was slow except for the sea,
I was happy because of the power I drove from the metal beast, I was longing for the salt and cold
desperation that comes from tears and other wastelands.