Define insanity, define me

'A spectrum of behaviours characterised by
certain abnormal mental or behavioural patterns
that may manifest as violation of societal norms
including becoming a danger to themselves and others or
nowadays denoting mental instability'

Hey! wiki define abnormal, because I don't understand
Tell me who decides societal norms, cause I didn't contribute to them
Let me be dangerous, let me be myself
The stability of whom should I look at?

Define love, define pain, define sufferance
define mercy, define justice, define tolerance
define passion, define sex, define complexity
define insanity, please define me

Take me out of this dream, I can't catch the reality
lead me through this wet fog, guide me home
all my senses are enhanced when
I'm abandoned to your memory

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poem by Ilaria Boffa
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Parental advisory (explicit content)

They are here
spray paint and marker pens
They are here to show
our defacement and vandalism
They are here to show us and kick
our ass our laws our bourgeois respectability
They are here to show us and kick against this idea
of unsustainable stability
They are here to show us and kick against this idea because they've got no fear
about death about governments about dominant thought
They are here to show us and kick against this idea because they've got no fear, they use the power
of freedom, expression, creativity, mercy and generosity
They are here to show us and kick against this idea because they've got no fear, they use the power to write down
their fragility their energy their sufferance their misplacement
They are here to show us and kick against this idea because they've got no fear to be opponent
when we are absent, when we decide for them, when we change the rules without their engagement
They are here to show us and kick against this idea
of the ruling class and the perfect family and the perfect life
They are here to show us and refuse
parents who scream and abuse, the bully mates, the violence, the prejudice

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poem by Ilaria Boffa
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Fake hallucination from Berlin

I can hear their voices clearly, low and suffocated
I smell the fear, the whirlwind of their thoughts, unaccomplished
they can pass through, under this controlled sky tonight
whatever they find out there, they will stop this fight

I can hear my voice clearly, low and suffocated
I smell my fear, the whirlwind of my thoughts, unaccomplished
I can pass through, under this unattended mind tonight
whatever I find out there, I will stop this fight

there's a light they can see, a thin line breaking the trunk
there's a choice they can make, a simple faithful act
what will they do then? how will they build a new beginning?
no matter what, no matter how, freedom is not a sightseeing

there's a light I can see, a thin line breaking my time
there's a choice I can make, a simple faithful act to find
what will I do then? how will I build a new beginning?
no matter what, no matter how, freedom is not a sightseeing

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poem by Ilaria Boffa
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Riot of the unintentional witness

We are all seeing what is happening to our brains
they lied to us, they promised what they couldn't maintain
they captivated our young spirits, manipulating our dreams
everything started at school, everything to overrate our self-esteem

We are all seeing what is happening and its consequences
we've been told us to speed up to catch the best vacancies
so now we do not recognise happiness and mercy
we live through social networks, we never ask is it fact or fancy?

'Sir you're playing a dangerous game
keeping this raw Vikingness contained
there will be big aftermaths!
Sword! sharpen! now! '

Oh come on! don't say you're an unintentional witness
where were you when they made you to believe you were a princess?
where were you? you and your chronic dissatisfaction?
you and your fears, your fucking mental masturbation?

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poem by Ilaria Boffa
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Tenderness Is A Privilege Of Few

Name the violence and her sons
A sort of callousness enshrouds us
Harsh words friendly support bitter behaviours
And tenderness is a privilege of few

I can't let you die, I can't, I am sorry
The only thing I may do for you is to allow me not to exist anymore
What I was, the one you knew has to be choked off
Despite my awkward attempt to survive with you
I do recognise that I don't deserve your memory

Stunned by the revelation I wander in despair
Still and frozen my mind learns your thoughts by heart
Is that everything lost?
And then mist in my dreams, your gaze weird moved by compassion
Does it mean that you felt my pain?

Name the violence and her sons
A sort of callousness enshrouds us
Harsh words friendly support bitter behaviours

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poem by Ilaria Boffa
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Let's have a Chardonnay tonight

Don't take everything for granted
my indecision is just a cloud moving fast
when the dawn raises up I will be ready
it takes me years to understand
and now I won't step back

I'm going to divide at last, I choose to fly
I won't listen to this empty noise
I'm going to make you mine
there are so many me, so many you
and male seahorses become pregnant

Please no, don't tell me you're tired
I want to get high, I need to get confused
if I lose control I'll forget my mind
let's have a Chardonnay tonight

Somewhere we can't walk alone in the street
hungry animals are hunting around
somewhere we are eaten for nothing

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poem by Ilaria Boffa
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Fucking years

We are a sad generation, I would say on the verge of falling, on the verge of life, on the verge of death
the ones among us who graduated, they are now regretful and full of fears
strangers overwhelmed by these fucking years

Always complaining about a world who killed us
about a journey that never started or never ended
perfectly comfortable shutting ourselves up
waiting for something better to come

Am I part of all of this? Am I still belonging to me?
All I want is to find myself again, partially new
possibly complete

My sister-in-law has three kids and a malignant cancer to beat
she is also forty and so strong and so brave
I'm ashamed of the lack of courage I see!
for noble things I'll save my tears, I let you cry these fucking years

We never know when we are ready, I mean ready to die
we just perceive that should be part of our time

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poem by Ilaria Boffa
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