Don't Think It Twice

I'll kill myself tonight.
Is just one night
No day, nor afternoon.
Just. One. Night.

Answers are there
every ending leaves,
leaves into a brand new start;
that's why,
I'll kill myself tonight.

Let's give a dance,
one last dance
and reborn,
reborn,
reborn,
reborn,
be brand new.
 

Es Del Solitario

Yo no te quiero si querer es solo por querer, pues un espacio no es vacío si las estrellas se encuentran escondidas.

¿Carácter? No es sobre el carácter. Es del solitario, que en depresión deja como tarea hacer sonreír a lo imposible, pues yo no te quiero si querer es solo por querer.

Es en aquella ribera, con una atmósfera templada. No hay peces, pero igual, todo esos momentos ambos los convertimos en un lago.  Solo somos por ser, y no quita el tiempo ni la angustia ni la indiferencia ni el enojo ni el llanto ni lo solitario. Yo no te quiero si querer es solo por querer.

Pero yo sí te quiero si querer es volar. Yo sí te quiero si querer es dormir. Yo sí te quiero si querer es gritar, aullar, brincar, tocar, sentir, ahogar, mirar, viajar, oler, luchar. Morir.

Yo si te quiero si querer es morir.

Un día seré importante, seré importante y tu querrás querrás tanto que dirás "quizás contigo, vuelva a apetecer"yo sonreiré, porque bien sabré que te perdonaréte perdonaré y te dejaré. Porque ya sabes, un día seré importanteseré importante y tu querrástu querrás tanto que dirás"quizás contigo pueda robar velas y prenderlas por la noche, para admirar esos ojos marrones que con poco tiempo se convirtien en deseo"yo sonreiré, porque bien sabré que caeré que caeré y te abandonaré. Juntos varias noches, compartiendo cobijay que dan las tres de la mañana, las cuatro, las siete y mediapienso que es tiempo de regresar a mi dormitoriopero te detienes,te detienes y dices "es que quiero verte, verte un poco más; no te vayas, por favor no" y que da la una de la tarde, las cuatro, las siete y mediapienso que es tiempo de querer de nuevopero te detienes,te detienes y dices "es que ella era una perra mal parida" Me miento a mi misma, creocreo que puedo hacerte quererquerer lo inquerible que no se ha querido. Me miento a mi misma, creocreo que puedo hacerte observarobservar lo inobservable que no se ha observado.  Y pasa el tiempo, y siento y hago y digo y dices "mi amor usted es grande a mí" y te creo, y vuelo y salto y pienso "qué bonito que lo saque del traductor de Google" Y pasa el tiempo, y siento y hago y digo y dices "you make me have tears of joy"y te creo, y vuelo y salto y pienso "por favor no llores, no" Para que luego, con el tiempo después de haber sentido, hecho y dicho ambos juguemos a ese juego comúnese de olvidar, ignorar y desechar Para que luego, con el tiempo después de haber sentido, hecho y dichoambos juguemos a ese juego común ese de despreciar, odiar y detestar.

Human 2 a.m.

I wanna be skinny, but I’m not.

I wanna be different, but I’m not.

Seeking inside the troublesome of the human mind

We all wanna be something, but we are not.

We all wanna be something greatest than the one by your side.

We all wanna be that something that accents between the common ones.

We try, we become, we act.

We think, we perceive, we idiots.

We idiots, we idiots, we idiots.

Not we are idiots, no. We idiots.

We want to be, but we are already being.

We want to invent, but we are already invented.

Then how we wanna be? How we wanna see?

We are the reincarnation of what success and failure present

We are our past, as the present becomes our future.

I wanna be smaller, but I’m not.

I wanna be creative, but I’m not.

Seeking inside the literature world

someone already thought what we did not.

We all wanna compete through different eyes,

We all wanna evade what we not know.

We, we, we

We as the selfishness on extasis

We, just we, and we.

We wanna be somebody else.

We all wanna survive.

You.

Kill.

Me.

Now.

Tu Convite

Te regalo la felicidad bajo la cama

La lobotomía del craneo de un individuo exánime.

Las indulgencias de los ancianos,

La visión de la idiosincracia en momentos laborales.

Te regalo lo inservible de mi cuerpo

Lo eterno en lo muerto.

Los errores en los perfectos,

Lo inane en lo cometido.

Te regalo la inspiración de un beso

La impericia del blandengue.

La incultura de la aversión,

La historia de la melancolía desde 1800.

Te regalo lo utópico

Lo que no quieres.

Lo imposible de ser otro semejante,

Lo irracional de lo opuesto a la repugnancia.

Te lo regalo.

Te lo.

Te.

T.

.

Apes

Is midnight already, I’m able to see how my breathe turns into vapor. I can invent thousands of words for what I’m seeing right now, I can invent thousands of actions for what I’m doing right now. Here I am, laying in these ochers and orange waves in which each movement I do, it thunders similar and loud noises that slowly goes into this submissive white foam that freezes my entire back.

“I can’t believe is midnight already” I repeated several times to myself, “I can’t believe is midnight already”. I’ve never been this cold before, I’ve never been this lost before, and I guess is not about what I’m looking, because my crystalized marbles are closed.

It’s dark right now, but still I get to not lose what my pair of tact sensors are feeling in this moment; each time I expand them I can’t stop hearing the crunch between the foam, the crunch between the brownish waves. Each time I stand up, I can’t stop feeling free, falling in infinity. Here I am, standing, screaming, touching, “observing”. Here I am, “looking up”, “looking down”. While what is supposed to be my greenish and big protection of the huge orange star, it turns to be my navy blue panorama, being lighted by that far round light that it looks like if it was creating some rabbit shadow inside; being also guided by those small creatures that the more darker it gets, the more music they create. “Just follow the sound” I figured. “Just follow your thoughts” I tried. Pause.

Right now, I don’t know anything anymore. Pause. Right now, my navy blue panorama is going everywhere, turning each movement into paranoia, into a chaotic stress, because everything is looking the same. Am I going forward? I don’t know. Am I going backward? I don’t know. Pause.

I don’t know what is worse, if knowing that you don’t know, or if knowing that it won’t take that much period to get burned by God’s grandfather that each day gives birth to the same deer.

I don’t want to this madness to be over; I don’t want to find a path that gives my old fingerprints an answer. I’m hoping not to get back; I’m hoping not to get found. Because when this foam starts getting back to create a river, the ocher waves are going to bloom into infinity of colors of life that will bring the joy of thousands and thousands of living objects.

I guess is time to open that pair of crystalized marbles that with the birth of the deer hitting right in, turns them into a light honey maroon color. Is something out there? Is something in there?

I’ll never know what the purpose of changing my softest organ into the roughest rock will ever have to relate to the brightest round light of the dark; I’ll never know any reason why I did loved walking through all this huge grey jungle thinking as if could be my greenish, huge and colorful protection from the birth of the deer; I’ll never know why the new sense of “change” had to put me laying in those ocher waves feeling how the foam was freezing my sense of sense. But yet, I get to understand that some moments are better than others; that some senses are lighter than darker; that some sizes are bigger than smaller; and that some places are similar than differential.

I will just keep falling wherever the dark blue navy appears, because I know I have my big guide friend: the round light with the rabbit shadow inside. I will just keep following the different forms of those old, wise and protecting shadows that for years they had been there, but they haven’t been discovered by this distracted crystalized pair of brownish marbles before.

Getting lost, is the idea; concluding that even the absence of a color in that big, tall, unreachable protection shadow, will give any breathe a piece of vapor, a piece of midnight, a piece of rich experience of brown combinations while any step is given; getting to hear the crunch of the white foam that lays next to each ocher wave. Getting to see the change from white to green, from green to ocher, from ocher to white, and again from white to green, constantly accompanied by the sound of a waving scream that blinks sometimes in a sea tone, sometimes in a blood tone.

Constantly, being darkened by this thick deep sound of that heavy and chatty snake that runs the three hundred sixty-five (in this case three hundred sixty-six) days of the year, up where no mouse can’t touch it, but they can be eaten (if it’s not full) every five minutes, every ten, every fifteen.

Here I am I’m guessing I’m breathing because the vapor is talking for me. I used to hear loud noises all the time, but this space is different, is still pretty loud; but like no other space (or at least not as the space I came from), will be still forming white foam into a small river, like this one. The deer has been born again, figuring that the time is changing. Is brighter, softer, and warmer. I’m not able to see vapor anymore.

Will I ever get to be indifferent to what being laid in this noisy space is? Will I ever get to communicate as everybody else does? Right here, without any fear?

There’s no more round light given from the navy blue friend, the deer has decided to stay. Everything that looked different from the eyes of the round light with a rabbit shadow has proved that a period will always lie. The ocher waves are not ocher waves, the white foam is not white foam, and my navy blue panorama has turned to be all those unreachable, tall, huge protection. Presenting each one of those, their long protective shadow to get unburned.

You get answers if you wait, but you don’t get explanations if you leave. I’m feeling cold again.

Did you know it hurts?

Did you know it hurts?

When someone cares more,

when someone cares less.

Did you know it aches?

Did you know it aches?

When someone feels down

When someone feels up.

How do you want me to be with you,

If you don't even care how was my day.

How do you want me to kiss you,

If you don't even care if I'm okay.

Did you know it hurts?

Did you know it aches?