Felt the flow,
crossed no sea,
felt the air,
couldn’t breathe.
There might be too much,
might be never enough,
it gets no more than worse,
caught in a mirror,
the pass to universe is locked,
not a glance of reality.
Anxiety is rounding
covering the head,
feet and soul,
sold out your wife,
with you lasted life.
Got on,
freed you in black,
darkened shadows.
Martha Chiara 