Not even writing could pull this heart together again

This emptyness won´t allow me to see past this clouds of fear, of anger

Faith in hope is all lost, not belonging, there’s only rust.

Tired, vanishing within these walls hides the growing question of solitude

Rename, reappear, reset, another heart and it shall bring no regrets

I can feel it in my bones, this rusting heart that simply no longer grows

It’s stuck, poisoned in memories of what could have been, what he had seen

Fear to feel that for one fight, he faced his fragile fabric of fantasies fading from himself.

Madness muttering mostly merciful and painful memoirs of that month he met the perfect other for his match.

Trying to feel the true touch of her toxic naked body trying to tempt him, talking to him through the tameless tales in her skin.

Though not even writing could pull this heart together again.

Beloved pages, I here by condemn you to be my only ones for life

To fear me, to hate me,  to be forced to **** me when the time is right

Never again will her lips intoxicate the ink of my creating

Never again will I dance the same old waltz, while she is waiting

Melodic fires taking over the sadness which taught me how to live

Attaching feelings to words and irradiating confusion as I grief

Eternal angels singing disguised as tears

Forbidden tears swimming disguised as maidens

Desirable maidens betraying their most unholy desires

Dead roses falling through the empty spaces in the room

Enabling the place to receive what it had been missing

The perfect place for a bride and a groom

So long as they continue to be kissing

Busco el amor que me robó la ciudad.

La neblina flota en el espacio de noche,

Y la luz la atraviesa mi alma como un ventanal que se rompe.

Tus pasos sobre la calle me hacían sentir en casa.

Hueles a primavera venciendo al invierno,

Por eso te escribo estos versos en pleno febrero.

No te pierdas, mi niña que creció en mujer.

No me busques, mujer que secuestró mi paz.

Pues si te encuentro, no hay duda de que volveré a enloquecer.

Y si me encuentras, sabré que ya no hay vuelta atrás.

i won't ask for help unless i'm certain i can make it on my own
because if i'm not going to, no help will help

i don't talk about my real feelings
i'd rather to pretend to have the ones i should
so why should anyone trust me?
i'm a liar
i'm a good person, but am i? i say i don't judge
but of course i do; this world is too ******
i'm ****** up from the get go
before my real life started, i was destroyed and just when
i was supposed to find freedom
i had to find survival first
i'll never say what i want; i don't think i deserve it
i will not ask for anyone to understand
i always think i've done something wrong
that's a feeling i am used to

i'm supposed to be most dangerous because i know i can survive?
how about -- i'm your weakest link because i am deathly afraid to go back to where i've been?
i'm supposed to know i have the strength
i'm supposed to use what i've been through to my advantage
how about -- you could knock me out with a good plan and a nice final leaving line?
how about -- you could hit me in the face and i would feel, deeply, that i deserved it?
what if i told you i feel that i am the most vulnerable soul walking the earth, and i can barely stand to type it because, well... who is going to use it against me?
they tried to crush me when they thought i was strong.
they did.

The sickening sinking feeling that comes with sleep still persists.
Is this what dying feels like?
I know bliss is fleeting, but it cuts deep,
and gives me a reason to continue to exist.

A lost in time, forgotten track
colorless, washed out, hollowed rather
meaningless if you were to describe it
used to write all the time, used to dream
in the bus, in bed as well, it has all
said its bitter farewell, oh dearie!
oh my beloved!, spare me of this cruel
misery filled path, I now cross
some sort of emotionless symphony
worthless effort, faded paint
insignificant piece of poetry
a fallen ode to legacies, significance
and memories, all fantasies
dreams, hopes and tales of stargazers
daydreamers and hopeless romantics
have been lead astray, by this
oh this filthy tray of decandence
forsaking a mournful heart
an adulterated soul...

Freedom or liberty, whatever your name exactly is.
How subjective your nature truly is,
There are those whom for you are willing to ouster life,
yet another group which accepts to give you away as an exchange,
oh a rather foolish one it is.

They believe,
they will never care for as long,
their well fare is not threatened, dangered,
at stake, or being labeled in a gamble, to be priced, so to speak.

Oh, how every single one of us, pillagers, poets,
murderers, lawyers, painters, doctors, musicians.
They all adore and crave for you!

Most of them do as they please indeed, indeed they can,
others have forsaken, all hope of meeting you ever again,
that is in fact, what hell feels truly like, usual yet so tormenting,
and all you are able to do is to weep, to mourn and
to dwell in eternal woes.