Marco Di Caprio

I did not want to stay here anymore,
But, then, I always came back.
like a prison who can’t experience
the light outside anymore.
I was restless,
alone,
already repeating myself.

I knew the moment was close
when my voice would break loose,
sharp and useless,
echoing against the same four walls.

But how do you leave a house
that has no doors?

It has no legs
and still
it follows you.

It changes place,
but never shape.

I kept repairing it:
room after room,
opening windows that led nowhere,
letting in a light
that did not touch the floor.

Inside,
the clocks had stopped pretending.
Time did not pass,
it accumulated.

The seasons gathered at the walls
and did not enter.

And every attempt to leave
tightened my hope.

The house
was built
around me.