alleviated

evacuation

the island

People, please...
For a moment at least, spare me from your criticism.
Somehow I have the feeling, judging by your cynicism,

that I'm misunderstood.
Nobody can, nor should prove
that I am not able to recognise your utopia,
even as a favour.
So why waste your time on foolishness-
next to so much bottled flavour?
Look, there's a full table,
and you're worried about my credibility;
drink people, drink! and better you will feel!
But you need to know,
I never complain without the merit
like some of you believe I would, for sure.
I'm not raised by snobs
nor the porno movie fans.
I'm no pillar of a homeland
full of decoration and kitsch;

I'm not one of those original pacifist phenomenons
with the message written on their shirts.
I am the average and inconspicuous space
full of buttons with a different
social malfunctions-
with my feet stuck in dirt.
When one button is pressed
another pops up,
after that pops up the third and
they're countless; as flies on the turd.
You're all here to assemble your troubles
so they can merge into one,
so you can push 'em with the joint force
straight to the bottom of your glass.
Well, I'm here to understand you-
so tonight I'm drinking too!
Some of you may feel cursed,
some unhappy, malicious, betrayed,
some naive, superstitious,
even pitiable;
all the vices and accidents gathered you together
to feel the shared transient happiness
of the lost souls.
Alas, my friends!
Tell me, can anyone find simple answers
when they're face to face
with the similar kind? Don't know?
So drink,
in the name of the same!
Because there's no happiness like a drunk foolishness!
Tonight
this will be our island and
we will make our own laws!

At least

until the new morning
dawns.

© Tom Del Braco

a written resignation (to the world of romance)

so, how do I start writing this kind
of a letter?
the time I spend thinking about love is just as valuable
as constant drinking that doesn't lead to anything
except intense headaches.
exiting through the doors of my past I didn't notice the paper years
that have been ripped off the calendar by the winds
of sadness and happiness
together with the relentless time, leaving no discernible traces.
generous accomplishment of the unconquerable theory
only managed to create interesting situation
when you want to break the barrier of the unbreakable bond
with the past.
it may have its value if it doesn't accuse former lovers
of games with broken hearts that cause pain,
something like hitting the empty bag, mercilessly.
it's depriving innocent souls of happiness,
those innocent souls
who know what the secret serum of love is
with only one single fault:
for that rare talent they always choose either the wrong target, unsuitable location or--
wrong time.

love is actually nothing else but a barbed wire
woven from aromatic flowers
that attracts with its peculiar tenderness ...
but it only turns out to be a trap of trust.
well, for the naive at least, it must.
it's adorned by terrifying beauty,
by subtle arrogance with no obvious weaknesses.
in every minute it will seek for a free second
to separate it from the parent unit, even if it's
disturbing the balance for the whole concept
of the private universe.
as victims of that kind of love
we are able to do different and unnecessary nonsense.
we become slaves to deadly despair
and unlimited joy.
such love doesn't hesitate even for once
and it doesn't care who's going to be poisoned by its toxic value.
it is the source of the eternal warmth
and deadly frost.
it's a sensible picture for a dreamy artists
trapped in a world of illusion
who believe in its power to save them from confusion of thoughts...
but they're desperately wrong.
it leads to uncertainties and then it takes you back -
to the past.
it often creates conflicts with the feelings
and we are almost always defeated.
when in love we're dealing with concepts of being in love
and almost always get misunderstood.
and then what?
we sail towards the new game of fate, hoping maybe
for something new, something
that's already been haunted by memories.
something inside our minds.

and now, really--
how do I start writing the resignation
of this kind? 









© Tom Del Braco 

betrayed

little night time paranoia

Unsent letter to an old friend

real

name

remedy

the taste

execution