Music takes me to different realms
More simple, more exciting
It makes me fly away for some time
As I dive in it's chords.

Music makes me blossom
Feeds my imagination
My emotions, my mood
It helps me heal inside.

Music guides my spirit
To places I wouldn't care
To visit otherwise.

Music cures me, hurts me
It helps me find
Versions of myself
I thought I'd left behind.

I want the buzz
of being proud.
I want to dance of pure joy;
And overall feel satisfied
that I've done what I've been doing
and forgiven what I have not.

Walk out in the rain
pouring down, soaking wet.

Walk out in the rain
without an umbrella or a hat.

Walk out in the rain
dark clouds are all you see,
because if you never feel cold
you won't appreciate the heat.

There's something wrong,
something is so wrong,
I can see the red lights.

Alerts ringing on ears,
from the inside, or outside?
Are the sirens real?

There's a problem,
or several, dozens of them,
all at the same time,
creeping up on us.

The hidden strength
behind dead eyes,
seemingly empty minds
running with scissors
but avoiding fights.

The moon is round in the sky,
both of them are,
don't ask, there's two.
The moons are full,
seemingly close
hiding their apparent ******
behind a black bra made of clouds.

I've been speaking concisely,
in a monotonous tone,
never too passionate
about a thing in this world.
My logic skills are tremendous,
my bills are paid in time,
I'm basically a robot:
efficient, emotionless and dull.

I'll go to bed soon,
a bed of sand,
sleep on the shore,
embraced by waves.

I'll go to bed soon,
I'll lay my head on a pile of clothes,
watch the sun set above my eyes,
stare at the dark of the night
and the light of the moon.

I'll go to bed soon,
a couple hours from now
when the last bus arrives
and takes me to the sea, my home.

I'm sorry, you know,
I'm sorry I'm not
who you needed me to be.
I'm sorry I'm so distracted,
I'm sorry I never know
how to respond accordingly
when you talk about yourself
like you're the center of the world.

My brain is so **** empty
my thoughts echo on it's walls,
should I watch the news?
They talk about war (war, war, war)
and crimes (imes, imes)
disease (ease, ease).
What can I do to feel good?
Watch your skulls down there, y'all,
I'm about to throw my TV out the window.

Yes, laugh young ones!

Laugh as loud as you can.
Be sure of yourself,
make fun of everything.

Laugh, young ones,
laugh like a hyena
as you run down the streets.

Laugh with your friends,
enjoy this teen years of yours
for when you see what's life
you'll see no fun anymore.

I'm tired of saying:
"I'm tired."
Tired of sounding tired,
while looking exhausted.
I'm tired of being tired,
I want to write about something else
but when I scan my mind for topics
I realize I'm tired.

Somewhere out there right now
someone is getting married...
someone's child is being born,
but someone else's dog died.

Somewhere out there right now
someone lost a loved one...
someone is being murdered,
but it's the best day
of someone else's life.

In these lonely afternoons
roaming around the streets,
sunny or rainy sky,
I always find what I'm looking for
and I claim it in no time.

My mistakes consume me,
eating my body inside out,
a torturing, deadly fever
with no way to cease.

My skin feels hot,
almost like it'll melt
and expose my rotten flash
for everyone to see.

There's a black bird in my heart,
it's like Bukowski's blue one,
but instead of sleeping with me
it keeps me up at night
and it's demands are not fun.

How empty is this house
without echoes of your phone
ringing insistently from the next room...

How empty is this house
without the sound of you typing,
making someone else's phone ring
in someone else's home.

How empty is this house
without the image of you,
a perfect statue, sitting,
staring down at your phone.

I'm going out tonight,
watch the street grow lights
as the sky blacks out
and the stars are lit.
I'll listen to new voices,
men and women talking,
I'll see dogs play fetch
as I slowly walk.

The sun looks brighter,
the people look better,
the sky looks "bluer",
the world looks like heaven.
If you ask me about my state of mind,
my drinking status,
I can only say
my "shot count" is way more than seven.

Some of the weights you carry
aren't even yours to handle,
drop a few along the way.

Beloved son (of a)...
Sweet mother...lover.
yes, please,
write this on the gravestone
I'll rest under.
You must mention my NPO
for the poor on our streets,
you can still see me adopting stray dogs.
I FED HOMELESS KIDS!
Remember my kind smile
brightened by the sun,
or the flash of a camera,
helping cats stuck on trees.
I'm gonna leave a lot of footage
for my memorial, but you see,
it's important that you remind people
that I, a good guy, have done all these things.

I want to do more, and feel less
I want to be better somehow.
Yes, I'm working on it
but this is what I'd call relapse.

I'm collapsing under this weight,
my burden is the past on my back,
also doubt, fear for the future
and what the present means.

I wouldn't say this out loud
but after all, I'm kinda scared.
I pace around and beg myself
for an answer I'm not sure I have.

The bus is not so full now,
through the glass the sky begins to redden,
my bag's on my lap,
my eyes are on the road.
In this rectangular metal box
I pierce the city's veins,
watch them pump, pulsate
with people I may, or may not, meet someday.

The strange feeling of floating,
dissociating from my skin,
sliding between this world
and something beyond.
I'll keep it together until I'm alone,
I'll ignore the clarity, for now.
I'm detached from my past,
present, whatever is to come.
Well this feels good,
but at the same time it's wrong.

Yet again the moon rises,
indifferent to daily stress,

despite all doubt and pendency,
it hits the hammer,
and demmands you to accept.

It brings much needed closure
so before you move on, friend,
you can take a rest.

Before I met you I had nine lives,
safely preserved, well kept,
it's hard to believe I lost four
just in the day we met.
You spent three months around,
I lost three more each hangout,
now you're gone and I only have two,
but I'd give them to you without a doubt.

The oldest form of entertainment,
neon lights, loud music, stranger;
that was the last night of a cycle
for today I'm no longer 20.

A buddy, also tripping,
after the bottle is empty.
The night is young...
but Monday morning **** sure isn't.

An aspirine and lots of water,
dizzy, nauseated;
the world span, when it stood still... I didn't.

Everything requires composure,
discipline to look collected,
smart decisions, dry eyes,
get up from the ground.
You need to look tough,
whether you'll join the army
or sell cans by the pound.

Waves going up then down,
as coconut trees dance to the wind,
and the sun sets on the orange sky.
The Jeep slides along the coast,
I feel the salty fresh air
easing the stress in my disguise.

Desire... maddening...
...destructive inside.
What a waste of a healthy body
designated to be mine.
These healthy limbs have no use
under the command of my crippled mind.
My head spins in disgust for my own kind,
for myself, for my equals, for my life.
This need is like acid, corroding my every cell,
leaving me cornered on my own edge.
My skin is burning... and it's desire,
a primal urge haunting me at night.

Emerald eyes shine,
lit by bright stars upon,
the moon is so close,
it's like it's drawn
to the street lights.
A million cars around,
beeps, drifts, signs,
but I don't mind the rush hour
if you are my ride.

A thousand pairs of judgy eyes,
grey, blue, brown, green,
all colors spinning around me
attached to bitter faces,
expressive frowns.