Marco Di Caprio

The void.

Fear of emptiness,

a hollow dread

where meaning slips and dissolves.

I cannot explain it,

but a fog kept pressing

against my temples,

beating insistently,

without rest.

There, in that room,

everything felt confused,

ungraspable.

There were people sleeping around,

On the sofa, on small chairs, even on the floor.

Whiskey,

rum,
weed,
and who knows what else.

I had to fly away.

It was an attempt to quiet

the young spirit

that still wanted to feel better.
The young spirit
that wanted to hide
inside a bottle of pills,

far from the world.

Now the restless pulse of alcohol

slips into the veins,

sometimes joined

by other strange chemicals.

Now it moves with a rhythm,

unceasing,

like the soundtrack

of a nightmare

that never ends.

And then—

I decided to leave.

A patio and a veranda,

the greenery of such

a beautiful country house.

And I started wandering

along a small, dirty path,

with trees covering most of it.

The noise was fading,

like the music in my head

was fading too.

I could see everything,

I didn’t need a torch.

I lifted my gaze,

and I saw you.

My beautiful Moon,

immense in your nakedness,

fragile,

and yet overpowering.

I looked at your calm,

and something in me softened.

O Moon,

in your trembling, eternal light,

I felt held and contained.

With you, I didn’t feel alone

anymore.

And slowly,

the chamber of my thoughts

grew dim,

then shone again,

not with the old fire,

but with another light,

as if another Moon

were rising within me.