FILIPPO SORCINELLI UNUM VULNUS EXTRAIT DE PARFUM 100ML SPRAY

VULNUS

I had a body before it rained at night.

It was a house of flesh with lit windows, a small temple where the soul rested its forehead on the skin.

Then someone entered my most sacred darkness and broke the bread of my light.

He arrived with stones thrown from absent hands, with sentences born in the dark, with the hatred of those who wound from afar and leave the weight of blood to others.

The bruises went away with the pity of color.

The bites left the skin with the tired gait of the now satiated beasts.

Since then I have learned that the body can become a foreign room, a bed full of nails, a rose closed by frost in the wrong month.

I learned that a word can make a hematoma, that a sentence can leave a scar, that a mockery can chew longer.

But inside there remained a nave of shadow, hidden in a wounded church.

The skin knows anguish before the mouth, before the thought, before forgiveness.

He knows the smell of fear, that cold iron that enters the mind and remains seated like a sick king.

He knows the poison of the voice, the blow of the sentence, the blade of other people's laughter, the bite of the anonymous person who throws mud and calls his own hunger truth.

I carried silence on my shoulders like a black cloak.

People saw my face and said: you are saved. But salvation is sometimes just a closed door behind which the room still burns.

Then came the perfume. It came without noise, as certain graces come after ruin.

He entered the wound with hands of air, with a blood of light, with a dark patience. He said to me: your skin is yours. He told me: your soul still has a name.

And then I got up with iron, smoke, leather, ashes, burnt roses, bitter resin that consoles only those who have passed through the fire.

I got up with the black ink of the words received that had become a seal on my skin.

I got up with the stones picked up one by one and fused into a crown.

Vulnus.

So I called my wound when it stopped being shame and became power.

So I called my name when he came out of the mud with a sharper light.

So I called my body when it returned to occupy the air with its force.

This is what I called the beauty born from my abyss: a liquid armor, a fierce light, a perfume that rises from the ashes and says to the world: I am mine. I am still mine.

I lost blood, but I found gold. I knew the shadow, but now I rule my night.