(Blândețe)

Gentleness – is absent

Every thought whispered alongside spoken words signals

Exit, shame, entry, forgiveness.

A terrible concern for what cannot be controlled.

A priest becomes detestable—come over to your history, let’s find out who you are.

Stretch out your arms.

I’ve covered the spots where at sixteen I jabbed the burnt tip of a needle washed in someone else’s spit.

There are no metaphors here.

I support no cause; the night for me is a bildungsroman.

I dislike when you drool over another’s lies.

Please, stop.

I stand for nothing; how could I mean anything?

With each moment, I see you seduced by cat-like eyes.

You are hardest on yourself.

For others, you carry them like a medic at a football match,

Sidelines where you leave your life.

Numbers and information are the new game of Tetris,

Finding a mad position diagonally.

I am a stolen painting, a classmate seated at the back of the room.

The city is full of mouths, tongues, popped-out eyes, crocodile tears, other animals turned to sandwiches.

I no longer want warmth, no longer want to be sad.

I am the wrong man born in the right place.

I see a degenerate generation,

An adjective

That has lost its morphological or functional traits,

Characteristics of its genus or species.

I paint electric pictures,

Sketch your spiritual destiny in detail, place thoughts,

Gentleness, understanding, I sketch, I open my sternum, shelter shadows,

Process them into tens of thousands of shades.

Did you drink too much last night again? Drugs are cool,

But you know nothing about drugs because

Arsenic.

We’re caught in a camp, let’s focus, when was the last time you did something, anything, for someone?

Why not? You want to play it safe.

No need for a system completely oblivious to a real problem.

I seek a real system for an ignored problem.

Don’t come close, I don’t want to know.

People like you would kill people like me, which means anyone.

On the boulevard, the same ads, hurry through life because you’re crossing my frame.

In life, we are born first, die last, we gather everything—

Chairs, glasses, plates, we measure, sweep, seek order, make

A real message, concrete actions, hard.

Leave the straw, suck it up—tomorrow’s another world.

Over time, I discovered that the horizon of my identity narrowed like a hyena in a disorganized fog.

You know I don’t know happiness; I have 5 Lei in my pocket and I’m out of credit, 16 percent battery left.

And I stand in the same queue, offering precedence, I wash my hands before I pee on your opinion.

I kiss hands scented with icons in a gesture of prayer, light a candle,

And burn a cigarette as a sign of hope.

I was, I existed once, ignoring the fight within, I chose the battles of others.

And so it goes, differently,

For nothing,

In vain,

Like gentleness,

Missing from your life, the goodwill of a junkie willing to do whatever is necessary for his realization.

We have too few hands to show everyone the way.