I did not believe,
standing on the bank of a river
which was wide and swift,
that I would cross
that bridge plaited from thin,
fragile reeds fastened with bast.
I walked delicately,
as a butterfly
and heavily
as an elephant,
I walked surely
as a dancer
and wavered like a blind man.
I did not believe that I would cross that bridge,
and now that I am standing
on the other side,
I do not believe I crossed it.

some things are better left unsaid, yes.

but watching people talk and write down about things that’s hurt them, heavily to the point they chose to sleep on them has got to be the most beautiful thing in the world to me. I only write when I feel these emotions, right in the deepest center of the realization. that’s when you know there’s a slightest meaning when you’re all lost and never want to be found again.
I write down when I’m fully aware of myself and my surroundings because I know for a fact that the next day I will feel empty and I could do anything to fill this vacant hole, again.
And I decide to read and read until I detach myself from the everlasting numbness for I can feel again and write down another poem about it.
It could take weeks maybe months but if it has meaning, it is definitely worth all the energy you can give.

I stop and think,
why is it always these
empty holes inside me
that scream
and it never stops.
it feels like
a baby has been born
inside me
and that baby never seem
to stop screaming and yelling
I always question myself
and the universe
why my soul does not
scream for anything
and it is always
these holes
sicken me
it is harsh and sad
I am going mad
it drives me insane
I lost hope and
if it ever comes back
my way,
it will break and
shatter on the waves.

it is the epitome of mad terror
I've been lobotomized;
in my nightmares
by ******-analysts
who seek the blood of the
weak and naive
for the guilty and the
geeks
same geeks who strive on books and
their gram of coffee beans
they eat and chew on
to nourish their brain with more
anxiety and horror.

listen to me
  
I tell you  

walk by me

I tell you.

Walk the streets
to the left
holy mass concourse of scalawags
to the right
a pile of wet cigarette butts
and broken garbage cans.
my brain has been castrated.
my guts are tormented from
all my past experiences.
Enter the room;
full of art
melancholic darkwave in the background
and peace.

Do not get out of the room.

I tell you.

(from outside the room)

noises and yelling
people fighting
misery

Reincarnation has to come to an end.

One is enough,
I tell you.
ONE IS ENOUGH.

Now, I swim in my Andromeda and float in the milky way..

a sudden itch
down her spine
she lays flat over
the black line
she sang and
she whistled and
she did not notice
the waste of time
drenched in colors
was her soul
of others’ words
she did not care,
at all.
she is sick of doing what
should not be done
for a house in which
she did not bother
and for a partner
she took nobody
and in the abyss
she stared
and in the abyss
in turn glared
is she excited
or is she scared
she is still silent
and the truth awaits
to be declared.

I have always been lost
between two things
the need of
tremendous noise
to calm
the rapidness of my thoughts and
the need of soothing my soul.
sometimes, I want to gaze at the moon by
the beach late at night
when it's dark and everyone is asleep but
at other times,
I want to be distorted
by a playlist that is full of sorrowful growling.
I have no other way
but to fill the void of my eagerness
when it asks me
for more and more
to remain at peace with the world.