Even if sometimes it feels that the only state of my existence is solid lava on my green sofa, melted together, organic and inorganic at once, I have to keep reminding myself that I have, in fact, lived. I am, in fact, alive.

That has defined me to such an extent. I zoom through the people of this land without bike lanes. Google has forced me to pass through the Duomo and through these human fields who stormed the streets for no reason I know of. As I avoid  just by the blink

Melting on the kitchen chairI have managed a coffee My limbs fall to the groundThe heavy gravity of life A streak of sunOh, to be a daisy

And I allow myself to imagine this aeroplane exploding. The dirty underwear of the woman two seats in front of me, previously thrown into a tightly-closed plastic bag in her metal trolley, is suddenly in the air, flying next to a destroyed MacBook Pro. A coffee cup, shattered to pieces,

I need to stop and in order to stop I need  money to spend  without worrying  a place to stay  that is mine  that is given   without asking  a hand caressing  my forehead  parting my hair  some lips on my ear  telling me   that it’s ok   that the world isn’t burning  whispering   that you love me   that we are sisters   that we are