When it seems like I am not partial enough to see,
and my third eye closes inwards hoping to understand.
When I see myself from  high above,
from far away of what I am and used to be.

Every year the same person.
Every year the same discovery.
Every day of each year thinking that the conclusion will be different.
And every instance of realizing: It´s the same as before (What I am resolving)

Nothing moves or evolves.
Is it that my essence is intact or that  I have yet to comprehend and mature.
Am I good enough the way I am now?
And if so, who I am?
What is my connection to myself?

I live of illusions
There is no difference between day and night
In the heavens that I create, I always find you.
My reality is diffuse
Unreal
There is nothing (really).

I am a coward and I am weak
I am fragments of what you left.
With you, hell is also heaven
When I lose you, I lose myself
and then I find me in your memories.

I live in heavens where I find you
You are my religion.
"My sweet addiction" while I dance naked
While I pierce my veins and fill them with the hope of seeing you again.

I live in illusions
Always lose you in the process
For in all my heavens I find you.
How I wish for you to come,
to rebuild me,
to take me out of this ****** inferno without you.

-3-
I did not have a name,
[Shapeless]
I was ephemeral at moments
but I was loved for existing,
regardless of the pain and the torments.
No justification needed,
no explanations necessary.
"Just you and I baby"
"We'll get through this together"
I thought I heard,
but what were words,
and what was meaning?

-5-
When I was inside her,
I had no worries or thoughts.
Ignorance was truly bliss,
no tumultuous introspections necessary.
I had no doubts,
no need for identity.
I was one with time
[moving]
Little did she know me.
Well, as much as she knew herself.

-7-
Less space to swim,
but your soothing voice became more than a dream.
Who were you?
Aside from everything to me.
Without me, you'd be fine.
But mother, you were my source of life.
I sank.

-9-
And right before my clock marked nine,
yours marked ten.
I came to the world.
But the world wasn't yet a possibility.
All I knew is that I was born
and that I had been living
inside my mom.

-1-
"I'm bleeding, I am not pregnant after all"

Death is not how you think she is
or how I think she is.
She is silently staring
from a dark corner
in a shady alley.

She is tall, slim,
like a skyscraper.
She has dark,  long hair,
that falls to the earth and covers it, like curtains.
(It blinds us.)

She is beautiful when seen from afar.
She waits for you,
patiently,
on that old motel bed with spread arms (and legs).

Her eyes are deep,
mirror-like.
They show you what it could be.
And her lips whisper empty promises (falacies).

Death smiles at you.
(she likes to smile)
You can see her yellow,
splintered teeth,
that reek of coffee and cigarettes.

From her mansion, she laughs,
throws *****.
Spreads pests,
while drinking wine she collected
as you cut your wrists with expertise.

It falls like a stream of crimson
inside her cup.
What a delight!
You give her that alcohol (addictive).

Death cries when she loses
does not go to funerals.
Jumps the rope with a bag of bones.
And sometimes comes
as soon as you call.

Deep down, she is very lonely.
Wishes for love.
Wishes for you to love her.
You wish to love her too.
(It is easier than loving yourself)