Somebody come and pick me up
(the heart of the bird is the weight of the bird)
I've been sinking into the universe
(the size of a needle eye)
And I'm beginning to really, really lie
With my autonomic nerves
And their will to life.

I remember the blend
Of light and dirt
As it painted my vision.
But I didn't care much
That I was no longer
Beginning to see.

She was the one being buried.

I'm depression. As real, as light,
As dark. As feeling, as air, as
Light. I'm as real as the sun
That isn't there. I'm as heavy
As its nowhere-
Ness. I'm the sum of sub-
Tracting parts, I'm the price
Of hell, a worthless dream.

My life
Is found, when life
Finds meaning (when was it lost?)
If you think
That means
It was me
Who gave
Up on God. . .
I gave everything
And nothing he returned to me.

Death to the saviors.
Death to the sayers.
Death to the forsakers.
   Nothing to arrogant nothing.

The greatest ******* pain
Is your child,
When he was just born,
And inside you,
And later, when he
Disappointed you.

You tried so hard,
Gave it a name,
Something you wanted it to be,
Gave it food and water - Your
Food and water,
And for your birthday,
You get a coffin.

Life
*****,
As the saying goes.
And I guess
Death is the Doctor
Who draws your blood
To replace some other blood.
As the saying goes
Around.

But maybe
Our dreams will get us somewhere,
When the end comes, when we sink our bones
Into that pillow the Earth, and in a thousand
The sun will abandon, and make it
No longer daydreaming.


But until then,
Let them **** each other.
So-called "family."

Scrivo perché l’anima  
non conosce silenzi,  
perché l’amore e il dolore  
diventano parole.  

I write because the soul  
cannot remain silent,  
because love and pain  
become words.  

Ogni verso è un cammino,  
ogni parola un respiro  
che cerca di incontrare  
cuori e occhi lontani.  

Each verse is a journey,  
each word a breath  
seeking to meet  
hearts and distant eyes.  

Se queste poesie parlano a te,  
sappi che il mio viaggio  
vive anche in libri  
che custodiscono le stesse voci.  

If these poems speak to you,  
know that my path  
also lives in books  
that guard the same voices.  

📖 Amazon – Roberto Masi  

*Masi Roberto © 2025

I can no longer disguise
Contempt in my eyes
The lows and the highs
It is you I despise
Heart no longer complies
While your heart denies
It’s me you chastise
Deceitful demise
There’s no compromise
I agonize
While you apologize
But my love I surmise
It’s fossilized
And I've normalized
What you’ve minimized
Gone are my cries
I’m numb from your lies
Like this I will die

Voice cracks,
When I feel overwhelmed.
Like a mental attack,
With no hope to defend myself.

Voice cracks,
When I feel nervous,
Because I have a presentation,
And I can’t seem to speak,
And my words slur.

If I were lying on my deathbed,
I ponder,
Would I remember,
When I wondered,
If I would remember,
When I was younger,
And my voice cracked?

Voice cracks,
When I feel anxious,
Wondering if I’m worth it.
Since it feels like I misuse the gifts I’m given.

Voice cracks,
When I feel passionate,
Doesn’t happen often,
But when it does, I struggle to let go.
Even when it hurts my soul,
And I wonder why I didn’t let go.

If I were lying on my deathbed,
Would this matter?
Would I regret,
Not making sure that it mattered?
Would I pray for a chance to turn back the clock,
Back to the days, when all of my worrying came,
From whether or not my voice cracks?

Voice cracks,
When I feel overwhelmed,
And I wonder,
Why do I do this to myself?
My biggest critic,
My greatest asset,
My only friend who’s guaranteed to me till the end.

Voice cracks,
When things just seem a bit too much,
And I want to hide away,
To return another day.

If I were lying on my deathbed,
Would I be satisfied,
That I lived my life,
Instead of watching it pass by?
Though people came and went,
Faces and names smudged by time.
Did I do what I wanted to do?
Or did I disappoint you?
It wouldn’t matter then.
I think I’d find,
Myself longing to go back,
To the times,
Where all I had to worry about,
Were my voice cracks.

Few dared to date Medusa,
For they feared being covered with contusions.
Those who did wore a blindfold to hide their eyes,
A blind date with fate and a disguise.

One of the braver men,
Who thought he could apprehend,
Medusa, his name was Trent.
He didn’t last long,
He took his blindfold off,
And like many before him,
He turned to stone and wasn’t heard from again.
Another challenger’s name was Wren,
Like the bird,
Medusa thought that was the strangest name she’d heard.
So, out of spite,
She reached across the table and exposed Wren’s eyes.
He gasped as his skin turned coarse,
Mouth open wider than a horse.
Medusa pushed him over,
Watched as he shattered,
And smiled to herself,
Even though she was lonelier than anyone else.

Medusa didn’t mean to be so cruel,
It was the consequences of her being used.
By a man to do things she didn’t want to do,
Unspeakable and terrible abuse,
She was the only one to lose.
So, she became a viper,
Her gaze became a noose.
Asphyxiation,
Righteous indignation.
She wouldn’t let herself be used again.

Finally, a man named Hunter arrived,
He tightened the blindfold around his eyes.
He sat across from Medusa, the table lit by candlelight,
She blushed, for he was quite a sight.
He reached across the table and shook her hand,
And he asked her if she had any plans.
She was taken aback, her mind rolling off the tracks,
Lost in a flashback, she babbled about tasks she had to do,
None of which was true.

Hunter laughed, a sound so sweet,
It made Medusa nearly fall out of her seat.
Was this the one she had been searching for?
Or was he just another liar?
Authenticity tends to hide,
Just like the scars Medusa had on her thighs.
One of her snakes whispered in her ear,
Advising her to ignore what she wanted to hear.
The snakes only wanted what was best,
But for whom? What was the purpose of their quest?

Hours passed by like comets,
First date turned into many happy moments.
Before Medusa could catch her breath,
Half a year had passed,
And Hunter had asked,
To see Medusa’s face.
She insisted that he didn’t,
But she knew he wouldn’t listen.
He lowered the blindfold,
As teardrops glistened,
Medusa thought she had just lost,
Her heart…

Hunter had heterochromia,
Left eye green, right eye a shimmering blue.
Medusa’s eyes were both red,
That pulsated in blossoming hues.
To both of their surprise,
Hunter didn’t turn to stone.
He captured her lips in a kiss,
Both of them were alone.
Medusa found the one who could see her,
She no longer had to hide.
Hunter loved Medusa,
It made her cry.

The world is filled with hurt people, like Medusa,
Who may push you away and leave you in contusions.
But underneath that deadly gaze,
Is a mountain of pain…