Like a prisoner of the past.
Unable to let go.
We like the things that are certain.
It´s easy for us to think,
that nothing can ever be good again.
Because we despise change.
We fool ourselves
to think that everything that we´re used to,
is good for us.
We chain ourselves to the invisible bed
that whispers in all the right tunes.
Tunes that we think we want to hear.
We don´t know better than to listen,
to the safe whispers of the only things
we know are certain.
Why do we listen to the whispers?
Telling us to come closer.
As we trust, in the masked whispers,
we get bitten.
And we bleed.
Yet, we stitch our wounds,
as we lay in the bed,
that we think we deserve to sleep in.

You
are supposed to be
my example;
my model;
my idol,
my wonderful,
my perfect,
my life-like-you example.
Instead,
you are my
opposite,
my don't,
my bad,
my no,
my devil,
my nobody,
my villain,
my don't-be-like-you.
What have you turned into?
What if I no longer want to be like you?
What if I don't like this you?
Well,
somehow,
I still love you.
Don't ask me how,
'cause I don't know myself.

What we have become
Shows clear in morning lights
Raising spirits beyond fitted growth
Ascetic as it may be
Health buckets the splendors of being happier
And leaving unanswered the question
Of why anger cannot be dishonest
Numbing hate with reasonings and Excuses
But triumphantly a society survives
Breathing differences more beautiful than before
And unequal in the holiest of ways