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Who am I
I thought I knew
But now I don't have a clue
I seem to have lost myself
Like a book missing from its shelf
Not to be read
But removed
A book that shouldn't have been written
Before I thought I was a kind person
I must have been kidding
Yes I was designed to solve others pain
But now I've become accustomed to using what you tell me against you
Sharing your deepest feeling and fears will just be in vain
Wanted to be a problem solver
But I just create more
I wanted to be the one everyone trust
Conquer anger
But couldn't defeat my own
Once thought I was a confidence booster
It became my job like a career
But I knew ******* with words
So suddenly And in a flash
Like a car you didn't see coming from your rear
Thought I was the person who was suppose to feel
But inside I'm cold
Who am I
 Jan 2016 Ariadna Calero
enin
drowning in caffeine
breathing the nicotine
my blood cant circulate - your love will stimulate.
the ****** of death in **** will simulate
your touch , my need
as we spiral in to sin

separation , depression , paranoia
anxiety - the absence of my sleep
aggression , desperation
toxicity - of a drama we are in
discoloration - i can't control the spin

screams - muted by bitter pills
our dreams - induced by the  acid
capsuled lives - longing self destruction
your embrace - disconnection
release me from what is real

obsession - for what we cannot fix
frustration - for what we can't control
memories - of what we used to be
delusions - of what we could have been
isolation - thoughts of being free
now voices dictate what i should feel
digging through my skin - opening the wounds
put your fingers in

remembering the days when we held
an illusion no drugs could replicate
i can't forget.
exchanging promises of never letting go
was it all in my head?
i can't escape the hole.
i walk the road alone.
Not here to be like or adored
If you don't like what I write
I don't mind being ignored
There's a reason I have a blank profile picture
In my words you will find me
All my ****** features
Between each line
Each string of my bushy hair is defined
The darkness of my eyes
While your reading
You meet my glare
My poems are a like portrait
And inside the painting is me
A depiction
An inscription
On the pages
And as you climb down the ladder of sentences you'll step on my nose
Only to reach the curve of my lips
While I recite out loud
Finally my chin
Where hair hangs like clothes
What I look like doesn't define me
If you trying to find me
You already have

— The End —