Where do you think you're going got up like that?
That's what I ask to myself when I look at me in the mirror.
Sadic mirror which shows human sadness and divine absent-mindedness.
All this make-up, these clothes, are they meant to hide or to show?
I'm a caricature, a transvenstite of the soul.
And still, I don't think this will sound strange, only this way I feel happy: this disguise holds me and makes me feel loved, protected.
It's my shelter from a world I fear and keep distant, a world that gives life to my character: 'till when I'm among people, all this is just pathetic, sad, useless.
But when I'm on the outside and everybody's watching me, attracted or amused, there, among people, my degradation raises to omnipotence.
I'm the cause and the direction of their emotions, I'm the reason why they play with me a game they don't know.
One day, while I was living again my fantasy, two eyes have rubbed out my make-up, have torn my dress.
Two eyes full of sarcastic sadness, but at the same time so sweet I just could feel their taste on my mouth.
She gave a glance and I felt naked.
The Emperor is naked.
But never, never, my realm has been so huge, never my heart so true and strong.
Suddenly my only one desire was to take her hand and hold her tight, like a little lucky charm, one you can't do without even you don't believe in it.
My witchy-eyes lucky charm.
Then the world, following the heart, went upside-down and her eyes were playing with me, telling me when and how, but not why.
Her eyes told me tales about all the other eyes I didn't look at, since I feared to see mine reflected in, about all the other hands I didn't hold since I feared to be smashed, about all the hugs I didn't had since it's difficult to hold a distant smile, about all the tasty lips I didn't try since I feared to get poisoned.
She stood up, took my hand and I was her broken glasses charm.
We went away from the crowd, that night, ploughing tracks of compressed soul, slightly sliding on cobblestones of magic.
We entered a building, some walls, whatever: for the first time I cared about inside and why, not how and where.
Slightly, like she didn't want to waste it, she rubbed out my make-up with her fingers: little purifying caresses. Even clothes underwent her fascination and got out of the way, embarassed.
Her lips came down to bless my skin and I was born again.
Skin against skin, lips on lips, body in body, soul for soul: the world was outside, maybe upside down, and wouldn't have reached us.
She took away my colours and made me create a rainbow, she stole my game and let me win.
Maybe she was the reason why.
I've never known: I saw her again in the crowd, but I pretended I didn't see, closed eyes, closed ears and shouting heart.
I've thrown away my charm in a manhole.
My skin is not made for reality: luck is for the brave.
So even this night I put on my make-up, I dress up, I wear my orange wig and I ask to myself who the hell do I think I am: I don't know, ask her if you're so lucky to cross her eyes.