I know that everything has changed;
apart from my name,
nothing much is the same.
Now I wonder if awareness
is equal to happiness,
because somehow
moments stayed longer in my mind
when they were an inhale
I didn't bother to memorize.
Now I'm a museum
filled with stains
from all the different kinds
of pain,
now I'm dipped in paint,
dipped in so many colours,
aiming to complete
a thousand pictures,
not content with just one.
Now I'm confusing
hunger for love,
and my heart has lost
its gravity;
my ribs are its cage,
one my wild heart won't escape.
And now that I've walked
a road filled with scars,
instead of tears,
I'd like to swallow the stars.