<< Put something of Vivaldi >> he said with a streaky look, with the eyes of someone who cakes in the oblivion of his stories. << I like drugging myself with classical music >>.
His thin tongue, impatient for the situation, moistened the paper and closed the act. That same night, we would take our lives. Or so I thought. I have always been obsessed with the idea of ??collective suicide, of bodies dismembering in parallel. The visors wafting through the air, the brains splashing the pavement, the exasperated screams of the old women in the building.
I was greatly excited by the idea of ??segmented bodies throughout the parking lot of 1708. Luckily, Malena shared my dislocated vocation for death. I inhaled the white powder from her navel, from her nipples, I ate her dry tongue soaked with narcotics, I licked her face, I chewed her hair. Our breaths are elsewhere, through beheaded sounds. I did not feel my throat, my disoriented heart throbbed in my ears. We finished at the same time, while suppurating liters of coca and lysergic acids.
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On the edge, on the balcony, I looked at the sky I did not know, the fifth floor now seemed thirty-five. We are carried away by the wind, we face the desperate pathological. His hand on my hand strengthened the pact. The vacuum was ours. His gaze fell to dust in front of mine. His palm untied and I saw him fall five floors to the void. His body did not cause the minimum noise. His left foot was positioned on his chin, his hand disarticulated from his fingers, his eyes spilled on the pavement. I came on my leg when I heard the first scream.
Malena survived everything, my love, on the contrary, annihilated her. After the fact, the loss of the track, the rest of the years between the high doses of rivotril and cotalopram. Eighteen years later I came across a photo of her in the mail, she is living in Africa, she has a son. Send me greetings.
