Spent 4 dollars on the light gun game
in the Barcade, and beat it,
and there are no high scores,
just 2am and sore eyes and
lactic acid in the elbow.

We're all rats chewing holes in
the ship we stow away on.
Sinking in a desperate hunger.

You don't know me, and, so...
don't pretend to anymore.

You don't talk much,
I don't talk much.
So, we don't talk much.
Yet, somehow, everything
is "fine". [citation needed]

Singing in the passenger side this time,
sitting on the vocals for the perfect song,
waiting to make you cry.

I am your doll, full of needles;
We fight by cuddling in armor
padded with barbed wire and thorns.

Mutilated "lovers". [citation needed]
Cold wars and cold tongues and shoulders,
and tired of all the *******, but whatever.
Everything's ******* now.
Nothing is fine, or good,
or okay...

Shreaded heart due to color of the skin,
Lonesome nights due to attire I'm found in,
Invisible due to the identity I'm lacking,
How can it be that all of this is still happening?

Inocence in a cell because the color tries to define them,
Eyes of hate cover the dark hair upon them,
Forget the studies if papers weren't probided,
How can we live passing all the judgement?

Military veteran, but color over sees it,
Depressive memories drowning a person's surroundings,
Brought accross at the age of no concience,
Let us widen out eyes to see instead of look,
To listen rather that simply hear,
To speak not talk,
To extinguish this judgement basing on the cover of an incredible story that may walk right past your ignorance.

-Kathia Mariana Landeros