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We are damaged,
     You and I,
But we're not broken
I am so tired of love,
     I am.

But, I can't get enough

                        of it.
I forgot myself
               for you.
sad days
makes me happy,
I met
You there.
I say less than half
of everything that I see,

          thus, silence is my hell.
    Love just fades
I love
your skin
my skin

Recently discovered a world of reason,
I am lost.
                  It's a world I can't understand.
I fear that

I will
             d  i  s  a  p  p  e  a  r
I have grown thin,
      I have grown old,
                   I have grown out of love.
I envy the dead sometimes,
   they needn't worry about honesty.
            They have seen everyone's souls.
Ask him to write you poems
           and books,
For I have run out of words.
Don't worry about the distance
   I will find new ways to make love
                                    To you
      I just want to write about
sad things.
                          Even though I´ve never been
We're too distracted
fighting for uniqueness
that we have forgotten
to fight together as one
And so it was that time passed by,
                               the years came and went,
  and every minute seemed like the first,
every look, renewed.
                Every vow was new.
Even when the only words left to say were
              "I Love You"
       it seemed as if they were always being said
   for the first time.
i don't know
maybe my heart
doesn't belong
to me anymore
maybe it just
never did
maybe that's
the reason why
it sometimes
hurts so bad
it is trying
to run away
somewhere quiet
where it's not
all on its own
all the time
She was there,
with me,
and all was well
Because it is easier to be
after the storm
when it's passed
But after the calm
when the storm arrives
it turns real
Give me enough alcohol and I'll become either
      a Poet or a Cynic.
           Maybe even both at times, although that never
                  ends up right.
                        A worded bitter will make you loathe the world
                                without your consent.
I'll never forget the feeling of your tongue,
       like acid
               peeling off my skin.
I could have drawn constellations
with the dots on your skin,
but you made me write a goodbye
letter instead.
i wanna talk
about the things that make me sad

and why
to me
The only way to leave a life filled with sorrow
is with a great, grand,


and no tomorrow.
It feels,
most if the time,
as if I
will apologize
for what goes
my mind,
or just
for being who
I am...

... Whoever that is.
Art you made
Art you shall become
That's the lesson I've learnt.
We're not made of stardust
Or particles
Or a billion atoms running
Up and down our system
Art is what we're made of.
Art is what we aspire to do.
Art is what we inhale
and exhale.
Art is everywhere.
Art you made
Art you shall become
Art is what you
Dedicate your existence to
What you are devouted to
What your life resumes in
Art is what you made
Art you shall become
Artist don't burn
They don't turn into ashes
They don't return to the earth
Artists return to what
They're made of
They turn into their own
Version of stardust
From art you were made
And art you shall become
Art you made
In Memoriam
I want a love who
loves me dearly,
I want a love who
loves me well.
I want to be taken
by the hand,
I want to be guided
out of hell.
I want a heart that
is beating wildly,
I want a perfect match
for mine.
I want a flame that
lasts forever,
and slowly burns me
from the inside.
I want a dream that
goes on forever,
I want it to always
be the night.
People say I don't have a heart
Because movies don't make cry
But just you show me
People being kind
And it will tear me apart.
Sometimes all I wanna do is
be sad
It's all I write about
It's all that I am.
Sometimes all I wanna be is
It becomes my mood
It becomes my truth
Sometimes sadness washes over me
And I let her
Like welcoming an old friend
Knowing they will soon leave
Sometimes all I am is
It drowns me in sorrow
It drowns me without color
But it's okay, they're a part of me
There's no denying it
But now they don't linger
They just come to greet me
To know about my life
And then they say goodbye
Sometimes all I wanna be is sad
And I'm alright
I love the way
your breath tastes,
and how it
feeds me life.
I love the way
your hands talk,
and the things
they say to me.
I love the way
your eyes smile,
and how they
always match mine.
I love the way
your legs shake,
and how strong
they always are.
I love the way
your chest listens,
and sets the pace
for my own heart.
I love the way
you move your toes,
whenever you feel
you're so close.
I love the way
you hair falls,
and it hides your
face from the world.
I love the way
your back moves,
and how it feels
so warm and strong.
I love the way
your neck beats,
and how it
helps me exist.
I love the way
your mouth stutters,
when air and words
fight to come out.
I love the way
your body combusts,
because mine does
the same for yours.
I, sometimes, crave for something
To call my own.
I, sometimes, crave for someone
To call me their own.
But what I crave for the most
Is for someone to call myself.
I am attracted to all things
that have some darkness to them
to the mysteries they hold
-real or imaginary-.
I'm not sure of the reason why
maybe because I have some
latent darkness in me or maybe
I want to know if I'm
I looked into my father's eyes
and they were frantic, panic-stricken,
pupils blown and all.
I looked down to my father's hands
and they were trembling, unsteady,
they reminded me of home.
I focused on my father's breathing
it was erratic, irregular,
it probably reminded him of his life.
I remember him wheezing out
"I think I'm dying, this is it."
trembling hands pressed against his chest.
And I kneeled down in front of him
my knees steady and unshakable,
and I hoped he was jealous.
I remember I looked at him and said
"No, father, this isn't your death
it's simply consciousness"
I can still taste the sick satisfaction,
the sly grin as I reckoned,
that those were probably the same for him.
Dreams, just that.
Dreams, illusions of the mind,
mockeries from my subconscious,
my hopes and fears
introduced as an incoherent mass.
Senseless, without reason,
without purpose.
Dreams, just that.
They aren't true,
they aren't real,

But oh how they help me
breathe throughout the night.
All these books to read

and all these songs to sing

but all I can think about

are these empty pages

and how my hand would look better

with a glass of whiskey.
Stop looking at me so sad
I'm okay
I'm breathing fine
Stop looking at me so sad
I'm fine
The sun always did shine
Stop looking at me so sad
My mind's right
No need to be taken aback
Stop looking at me so sad
I am fine
And I looked at her then,
So many years after

I saw her

Smile for the first time
And long after
I swore to her endless
Days of pure love

Ghostlike I felt then
Observing her figure,
Or maybe it was a shadow.
Defeated I walked to her,
Breathing heavily,
Yearning for the past,
Even then I loved her so,
First try at acrostic poems
To understand who I am
   You gotta know

That when I'm happy I feel sad
and that I'm always
sad when I'm feeling happy
I am a -9 Glasgow Scale,
even in life,
I should be intubated,
someone should breathe for me
Someone should
live for me
This life is not mine
It is just breathing
and waking up
and breathing
and waking up
... and breathing
... and waking up

      T w o
               T H r e e
                           F O U r
                                  F I V E
times in one day
Let someone else live this life!
Let someone else die this daily death!
I cannot do this anymore
I need other means to breathe
It is the weakness of the flesh,
the sweetness of the sweat
on your skin
what will be the end of me.
Because no matter how strong
I am,
you make a quitter of me,
I quit my values and my mind.
And it is all worth it, for you,
for the taste of your body, of
your skin,
for the slickness of your lips.
Its the sensuality of your eyes
that ignites me entirely from
the inside,
its even hotter than lava.
You set my hands on fire
and I can't wait to see the red hot
scorch marks
that I will leave all over your body.
It's your tongue making its way
from my lips, to my shoulders and
to my ear,
that makes me fall on my knees.
And it is with your every breath
that my entire world goes away,
its shattered,
the pieces lie under your fingernails.
I'm left overexposed and alone
lying in bed naked dressed only
with regret,
because of this I have to remain silent.
You are fire and I am gunpowder,
you make me explode every time
you touch me,
and I know this is all wrong.
You will take me everywhere
from pleasure to agony,
from glory to ruin,
but I know we will meet again.
people leave
people live
and, often,
these two
can depend
on each other
don't get stuck

        move on

                   the best is yet to come
Have I ever told you about infinity?
I had never seen such a thing, not once
not even a glimpse or a reflection,
or a shadow. Not even a ghost.
Until one summer day, while on the bus
I finally saw it,  infinity that is;
I saw it in the colour and the light
of a pair of sun-filled brown eyes.
I saw it in the way those dark pupils,
contracted whenever light was upon.
I saw it in the way the irises moved,
seemingly changing colour and shape.
It reminded me of breathing, inhaling and
exhaling, and the light was the oxygen, and
the irises the diaphragm, moving in order
to let in as much vital energy as possible.
As I moved closer to those round infinities
I felt, the vital energy they absorbed was mine,
it was in the way a galaxy was being born
from the clash of invisible light and brown.
An endless number of swirls and turns,
an unimaginable number of movements,
the unexplainable intensification of colour,
it was the perfect symmetry of breathing
But it still was something incomprehensible,
something that still seemed like a theory.
Infinity was so close but it was still too meek,
that was until, without warning, infinity saw me.
I have been having
about your eyes
maybe ...      
it is because I'll
see them again.
We all have a little sadness that we have to live with
            And that's not a bad thing
I woke up one day, in an empty bed,
even though your body laid next to mine
and I couldn't move, I tried telling myself
that I was still under sleep's spell.
I closed my eyes, shut them tight,
asking the skies for another try
to have the strength to keep my head straight.
But time stops for no one, it carries on,
and with your laboured awakening
my world, a fractioned world became
and from my heart, a vital piece fell.
You opened your eyes without seeing
and my body grazed without feeling,
and in a bottomless pit my soul fell.
With your eyes closed you sighed,
and inhaled a different air than mine.
And with your eyes, from mine,
you couldn't your reflection find.
Without thinking you raised from bed
and I laid there, abandoned, behind,
without a pulse that said I was alive.
With a heavy step I followed in your footsteps,
imitating a shadow, looking, longing,
without understanding the spontaneous rejection
suffering from the coldest involuntary exile.
I followed your footprints throughout the day,
watching you from afar, your posture so hard,
there wasn't a smile, a laugh in sight.
I couldn't understand the reason why
your gaze was so blank, distant, empty eyes.
Or why was your smile missing, you were so sad.
I walked with you all day, near and far,
but the blankness from your eyes stuck,
you ate without taste, without being satisfied
and drank without thirst, not knowing why.
I noticed the hunch in your perfect posture,
the lack of rhythm in your walk,
there wasn't music that could cheer you up.
I figured I wasn't the only shadow in your back,
that your heavy walk was a result of that.
I wished I had the power to free your heart,
even when my presence you decided to disregard.
Watching you, the world seemed slow,
the air was thick and the oxygen suffocating.
It never occurred to me that I could leave.
You closed the entrance door behind you
and slid down with your back pressed against it,
when you hit the floor and sat down, you cried
but when I tried to come close you dodged my touch.
I couldn't understand what was going on,
my soul screamed of desperation, of frustration,
I was all but begging for an explanation.
After a while your tears dried, you finally stood up
with your back still using the door as support
in order to give your still trembling, weak, legs
the time they needed to regain strength.
You took your time to fix your countenance
and looking at yourself in the mirror, you breathed,
I didn't make another attempt at approaching you.
At night, when it was time to finally return to bed,
it was my sweatshirt that you wore for that task,
I saw one final, lone tear sliding down your tired cheek
before you allowed yourself to surrender to sleep.
Walking through the hall I looked at the mirror,
and it wasn't until I couldn't find my reflection there
that I remembered I wasn't there any more
I couldn't keep you safe.
Monsters dream
that unicorns get together with vampires,
while they dance and drink
under the moonlight.
The Gods see them and envy them
The Undergods see them and they laugh.
While they dance and drink
they die
under the moonlight, during the night,
they have fun at the speed of light.
Once they start
they don't stop.
Once they get tired
they drink blood.
Angels dream
that Heaven and Earth are one,
united under one flag.
They dream dreams,
they dream peace.
God hears them and hopes
The Devil hears them and he laughs
his *** off.
A father dreams as he works,
he dreams of better days.
A mother dreams as she cooks,
she dreams of silent nights.
A grandfather dreams as he smokes,
he dreams of a peaceful life.
A child dreams as he sleeps,
he's filled with hope as he plays.
A child's laughter is a dream,
a child sleeping is like peace.
A child's kiss is all that we need
to believe that those monsters
that dream of unicorns and vampires
are real.
We are not body,
We are not mind
Nor heart.
We are thoughts,
We are feelings
And ideas.
We laugh and cry,
We love....
And we hate.
We are our souls,
Its whims
We must follow.
This is my soul,
It's wishes
And I obey.
So, after a mild break down I am back, reuploading and writing again. As my soul has always wanted to.
I remember those final moments
as I watched her pack her bags,
emptying drawers and closets
whispering through the halls
her words lost in the corners.
And I walked up to her, slowly,
as one would approach a ghost.
But she moved away from my hand
and tears were in her eyes. I stood,
like a statue, blank, unmoving.
She asked me the point of dating a poet,
if poems about her never were made.
Words failed me then, standing at the door,
words more beautiful than her weren't real,
and neither was I a poet nor a lover by myself.
Oh, the irony! Even with her crying eyes,
in her goodbye, so much poetry was told!
I wanted to tell her the magic in her being,
and how I longed for her happiness.
I thought about telling her, that next to her
moon, stars and sun were just street lamps
That in her sadness lived contradiction
and that the tears made her eyes shine,
and my fingertips desperately yearned her.
I understand now, that she never saw
how I formed constellations with her kiss
and within her breath was my existence,
that with her, my soul grew wise and old.
I guess there were never stars in her eyes,
or melodies in her laughter that she recognized.
She never noticed me looking at her from afar
or when, without me talking, she heard me.
Maybe she never loved me in my anger.
But seeing her there, so ready to leave,
my universe compressed and expanded,
and with a kiss I wrote the poetry she wanted
and to her lips, as a goodbye, I whispered:
*Never say I didn't write you anything
Sometimes, the noise in my head
                                    is so LOUD
that it feels the only way to
                                    shut it OFF
is with the sound of a gunshot.
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