Becouse of a habit

some babes called me freud or the taming of the mares

because of a common habit

to caress the beasts on thighs

I have an overloaded memory from which I cannot give up anything

in vain do I try to wash  it with  alcohol and to break its roof

as the firemen do with burning houses

in the streets I'm called : freud the taming of the mares

where the hell are you running in the morning  hiding

your head between shoulders?

but nobody noticed I was running in a strange rain

that the others loneliness was defying me

when being in a deep despair

I started mumbling:

how long are you catilina going to take advantage of our patience?

some babes called me freud to keep up

my illusion

that I exist

because after all their thighs

are busy almost the time