The imagination devastated by this cruel reality
Leads him to not want to live it anymore
Cut off from his foamy happiness
Annihilated by the overflow of physics
He waits for the surrealism to win him
As a child waits for his dreams at night
Impatient in his pain
He writes without pleasure by expressing
Nothing but the greyness of what he sees
He describes everything
But writes nothing
In the absence of what makes him
Every morning
to open his eyes and get up
In spite of the incomprehension he has of this dull life

Benjamin Charles

Photographe, réalisateur, consultant social media & content

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