I'll die in front of you:
you'll be there and watch me
in my death throws on the floor, as I disintegrate;
and never forget me, for I'll never leave you.
The traces of me will linger,
my scent will pervade your house.
A life's is not a blot you can erase:
vestiges of me shall be part of you till you let yourself fall on the floor.
I guess you'll notice
I've chosen your own house for my dying place,
the floor where you walk
at the end of the daytime
with your dirty shoes ― and so will you do.
I'm waiting for you here:
my floor welcomes you at the close.
Scusa, ma non saprei esprimermi altrimenti. Per lo meno, queste non sono parole altrui, sono parole mie. E tanto in una recensione parafraserei le medesime sensazioni. |