In the archives, in the casket of my body 

scars secrets and memories of my mind 

under a pale yellowish-grey light. 

Rest peacefully, yes, finally peacefully. 

Sometimes comes a stranger 

sometimes an intimate 

sometimes one who stands, hesitating, between the two 

Tell the fluid story of my life 

with memories compressed against my grey matter 

so fleeting, already gone. 

Each time, each time I remember them so much... 

They move, drift, twist, intertwine alter themselves 

reveal themselves, eclipse 

(naked, covered) 

(coated, stripped) 

visible, invisible 

distant, within reach. 

But rooted are the scars. 

Firm and solid on my body draws itself 

the minute of my story 

The muffled story 

engraved on my body 

on my soul. 

They sculpt me 

the familiar self and the stranger, 

between neurons 

constant and infinite distortion. 

In the infinite mirror I am reflected, resonated, I am echo 

and distress, yes distress and pain. 

My little ephemeral tale, 

my miniature narrative 

at the crushing horizon 

of the brief duration of days 

slowly disappears 

crawl 

pull 

towards nothingness.

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