The wandering feet in these secretive gardens
are not mine anymore, I swear, no idea whose
They are leant on your high-flown looks
The eyes are not mine, I swear, no idea whose
The words uttered for the first time in the world
are not mine
I am in doubt of myself
Let the future and past time fade away
My existence is dispersed with the coolness of tulle
Like the sad magnolias that die away when touched
So like those “my level to you” is graffiti
In the withering tiptoes
I did not say it, it was the wall that talked
I swear it was the wall!
It is not only me, every object has their voice.