by Stefano Serri
Everything talks about you, things that you have left in this house,
your fingerprints on the walls,
as I cross the threshold of the heart, stitches loose,
old wounds reopen and my blood flows free.
I loved you, I really loved you,
it does not matter what the world says,
or a false sister, disguised as a sister,
they are notes that produce no sound,
hieroglyphs of my pain that nobody will ever read,
no archaeologist to dig up my remains,
God is all I need, to give me back the one you were.
Last updated November 21, 2021