I have a proposition
A small inclination
That we should just stop
And run away from these constraints
That bind us to these pointless repetitive lives

Give me a break and let me breathe
Because even in my dreams I can not be
Without losing everything and getting sick of this
I don't know if they're worth,
Those hours when we close our eyes
To avoid seeing this side of life
Because what started being the most beautiful thing I've felt
Turned out being the nightmare that chases me everyday
I'm just tired...
I wish I could take you out from myself
But it seems that you're the evil that I can not forget
Hopefully I'll get some rest and be again that happy man you met

These three years are a bleached,
bitterly bluegray frozen, tundra-
full of shallow graves,
where I have buried my companions,
dreams,
and thin ice,
traveled with careful steps,
cherished occasional fires,
to warm the permafrost around my heart,
I follow ghosts made of frost,
who seldom speak,
but never fail to remind me that I am lost.