Sara Taricani

Portami il girasole ch’io lo trapianti nel mio terreno bruciato dal salino…

Empathy

Every sound is so confusing in this late night memory
and every sight becomes avoidant in this silent scene
thousand miles avoiding people and insanity
and in the warmth of complications that you’re dying in
The only flaw is feeling something too close to the very you
there’s no need of explaination
when you concealed the burning, the same dissonance i [...]