Open doors

Open doors

An open door is the way to create in our falling dreams. Open doors for youth and open doors for the ancient times. Someone told me: life is a mirror, learn before and forget after… like a nightmare coiling up in our minds. Who’s there? I can see your claws, brother; I can listen your screams and your lonely dreams. Where are the knives? Looking for a sense? The snake is offering the apple to Eve and she is discovering the essence of sex: they are nude and they are guilty and they will engender betrayal and wars and deaths and

Open Doors, by Martin Cid

Open Doors, by Martin Cid

thousands of broken dreams, thousands and thousands of meanings and books and words and fakes. Where is the meaning, mother? Why you hate my father? No, my son… he is dead centuries and centuries before you were born. Open doors for a lonely last door. They talk about a light, a signal… that is the end of the road. No more meanings after that. No more dreams, no more ungrateful sons, no more capital sins and no more religion. Imagine that, John. A world with no more beats and no more stupid music. A world without you and me, sinners in the time of killers! There’s a solution to the final riddle: death. Can you see now the last door? It’s a brilliant and clear door and you want to come inside. Who is inside? Maybe your father is waiting for you, your death father. Remember now? He lost in a stupid war. Can a war be clever? Can a man be a man? Can a fake be a solution? Time is behind this door. Time to understand people who die and time to understand people who kill. What’s time? You can try to catch it, to stop it for a second. How stupid, how human, how boring. Time for the love we will forget faster than these words, time for lovers who enjoy their last night, time to love and time to die. While you are reading this, you are nearer of the final joking blue death. Blue for love and blue for night and blue for roses in our last goodbye. It’s time and there’s no time. How can we live in the middle of the tragedy? Mirrors and words and blue and time and goodbye and your lost father in the last great war. Who am I, mother? And she’s not there. Who is she? She crossed the door again and, again, I’m lost and alone. I’m smoking now, wasting my time creating absurd sentences absurd meanings of lost worlds. I lost my father in a dream I cannot remember. Dreams are always strange. Sometimes you can remember them and sometimes not. Why? I would like to remember all but time after time here is the death killing my weak moments in the night. I dreamed with a beautiful girl and a door and my mother and time took my dreams off. It’s time now. I see the light at the end of the road, I see you, father. I see you, son. I must die.

Open Doors, by Martin Cid

Open Doors, by Martin Cid

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