The War

My feet are telling me to move.
As if they have a brain of their own.


‘You don’t stand a chance’ they say.


But I’m known to be stubborn when it comes to things like this.

I’m known to drop myself right into something my head creates.

Just to count how many pieces my heart is made of when it breaks.

And I still keep losing count every time that happens.

The cons of a goldfish memory.


A rebel for risks.


But something else in me always pays the price.

Maybe I’m selfish that way.

Inflict more pain just to feel alive.

And then die a little every time.

Till theres nothing left.


Till I’m back to walking again.

But instead, I just stand still in front of my future pain.

Waiting for the strike to my face.

The strike that puts me down.


Its as if my body worships the ground.

But I swear it doesn’t.

Maybe its a Stockholm Syndrome thing.

I’ve grown accustomed to how the ground feels.

How its shaped with its bumps, cracks and all.


But my hands.

My hands speak a different language.

They get locked in from the war that goes on in my body.

Every limb in me has a different story.

And my hands don’t know where they belong in any of those stories.


I pity them.

I know how indecisiveness can be a bitch.


Why can’t my body just listen to reason and agree on one thing.


Some are looking for shelter.

Some are looking for a cliff.

Some are looking for the ring to fight.

Some are just lost.


I can safely say that the majority is lost.

More lost than they’ll ever be.


And my feet aren’t strong enough to move on their own.

The Goddess

Let me talk to you about the one that takes over my mind.
The one that I see in the little cracks of that big rock in the sky.

The dark sides of it and the bright.


The muse to my words.

The high to my puffs.

The air to my lungs.


Let me talk to you about how she moves.

The way the wind succumbs to the way she sways.

The way the ghosts grow silent to her beauty.


The punisher of my darkness.

The ring leader of my demons.

The strings to my thoughts.


Let me talk to you about the way she looks at you.

How she makes you feel like your face is nothing but a mere structure of words.

How you somehow knew each other in another dimension.


The revealer of my darkest secrets.

The conductor of my truths.

The knowledge to my unknown.


Let me talk to you about the goddess among us.

Because the things she does

Her beauty

Her mind

Should be written in books for centuries to read.

Should be painted for generations to come.

Should be composed for artists to play.