Sleepless nights of persecuting phantoms
dominated by one single constant thought
and worry about the impossibility of our case
completes the Via Crucis of obsession
which seems never-ending in its fever
of a roller-coaster turbulent persistance.
But this hell is thoroughly enjoyable,
a self-tormentor's paradise and perfect dream
of beauty and enjoyment in its total pain,
as if a victim at the dentist's did enjoy it
even with some lustful and delightful relish,
as if this kind of love was the ideal consummation.
And perhaps it is, since I don't know of any other
and since this one is for real and here and now.
Poetry by Christian Lanciai
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Written on 2006-08-14 at 13:30
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