The notebook

Taking the notebook and writing, As a battle dream. A wounded and bruised soldier, The house is back. I no longer want to be clever, Or to be special. I do not mind showing a banal, Or a biased imitator. When the moon warns from above, And the days go by. Because nothing cares anymore, Just something to console. The mind would no longer burst like a jet, Maximum trickle. Nothing is waiting any longer, Only one of me from the window will get out.