And then
In a single moment
You were the oxygen I breathe
I found it hard to believe
That I might die without your touch
Just your presence and your scent
Was more than enough
But a tiny drop of your love
Could never be too much

I'm a murderer
I've stabbed my own heart.
I'm a thief
I've stolen my own happiness.
I'm a liar
I've told myself how much better things would be.
I'm a slothful woman
I fell asleep.
I'm greedy
I've eaten my own pain.
I'm hungry
Just not for sin again.

This one goes to the real poets.
To those who decide to carry the world on their own.
To those who carry hell in their head and a graveyard of lost love stories in their heart
To the brave ones who fight darkness with darkness.
Tho those who the only answer they seek from a god is if there's eternal life for their loved ones, because they know there's no space for them in that paradise.
To those who know that suffering is the most humane feeling there is.
To those who loved and hated the wrong person.
This goes to Lorca isolated, hiding in a closet in New York.
To Unamuno craving to believe in something impossible.
To Quiroga drinking the poison of his sorrow at a hospital.
To Becquer and Espino for dying so young.
To Neruda for cheating on himself so many times.
To Machados' lost spirit.
To Marquez and his melancholic ******.
To Poe's tormented soul and his raven.
To Shakespeare and his Juliet.
To Dante and his story of woe.
This goes for the only beings who can live with a hell inside of them, and still manage to write heavenly things for those in need to read.
This one's for us.

They say all I hold is lies
Of saliva in my throat,
And when I talk, I spit them out.
To hold them in would
Make me choke.
Is this a game, is this a joke?
Truth be told, I am a liar.
But I do it without thought.
It is less than my desire.
Causes fire. Spray it out.
Heard those cheaters never win,
Let's pretend that these lies
Are only here to plaster grins.

I used to fear not being good
Enough for anyone else
But recently I have taken a liking
To not caring what they think
I have been afraid of
What people might think if
They found out who I actually was
Or rather what I liked
So this is the truth
The ugly truth
It's not fun being something else
I have been around too many friends that
Don't seem to care so why should I
I'm different and that's how
it's always been
The difference is I know it
But sadly, some others don't.