Run

Like a meteor bursting through the atmosphere.

Im at full speed.

Im running so fast.

Faster than my thoughts.

Faster than my demons.

Faster than my afterthoughts.

I don’t want them to catch up to me.

I can’t.

So I run.

For the life of me.

I run.

Running with an empty vessel makes it easier.

It makes it lighter.

Lighter than the air that surrounds me.

Lighter than the color of your eyes.

Lighter than a feather.

Lighter than the color of your lips.

But

Im afraid of crashing.

I don’t know what kind of crash would it be this time.

A collision of two atoms?

Or a collision of two stars?

Theres always beauty in a crash.

I see serenity in it.

It happened.

Theres nothing you can do to prevent it.

You can’t run back in time to avoid it.

It’s done.

Your mind is put to rest.

Your fear ended and so you look for another.

For that moment, your mind is empty just like your vessel.

And so you fill it with nonsense to try to at least occupy something in you.

Something to remind you that you’re still here.

You’re still now.

You’re still alive.

But for now

I run.

With my very last breath.

I run.

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Noise

I wanna know what goes inside your head.

I wanna take a glimpse of whats inside your head.

I wish I could go inside your head and see whats in there.

I kept hearing this all my life and laugh.

But, in all reality

I wish I could leave my head.

I wish I could take a break from all the noise thats inside.

Maybe thats why I like to get high.

It gets quiet.

Maybe thats why I liked being around you.

It got quieter.

Theres too much noise that I can’t ignore sometimes and the noise becomes reality.

It becomes tangible.

It has a certain color to it.

A certain smell of a leftover burning fuel of memories.

And, no…. there are no more ways to quiet them down.

No calmness.

No muse.

Only noise.

Somnia

Being a dreamer in a dreamless world.

Trying to make sense of the senseless and the absurd.

It is not one, it is not two, it is not three, but it is four that meet the unknown.

This knocks you out.

This wakes you up.

This quiets the demons.

This keeps you sane.

But, where is the one that makes you happy ?

Can you stuff happy in a pill ?

Can you take pieces of them inside of you ?

Devour them till your veins turn blue ?

Crucify the demons with your mother’s prayers.

Justify your sins with your father’s blade.

This will forever be the mystery.

Of what became of my history.

10102000

Out in the ocean where everything is set in motion.
The waves, they crash, and with it my heart feels the commotion.


Up and down the way they move.

Round and round my thoughts confused.


How can a simple thought turn to a dark source.

The light illuminates but the screams are hoarse.


They say the only way a heart is open, is when its broken.

But the soul freezes, and the walls become the unspoken.


Grey is the color that took my mother.

Green is the color my skin had as cover.


This is the day you got your freedom.

This is the day I was beaten.


I know the guilt you feel for loving this day.

How the breath of fresh air came your way.


I watched you as you became smaller and smaller.

In my head, it replays over and over.


The sun

The wind

The heat

My feet

They are not running after you.

They are pinned down on the ground looking blue.


My blood stopped.

As my heart dropped.


Now, I pour my darkened soul that was taken over by this hole.

I pour it all down the gutter to try and make me whole.


But what if life takes its toll.

And the thing that gave you warmth makes you cold.


What if I had control over my feet.

And ran after you in the midst of your fleet.


Will it be any different ?

Will I still feel this feeling of false healing.

Knees kneeling till they are numb from weeping.


Grey is the color that took my mother.

Black is the color I painted the gutter.

The Needle and The Thread

The torture we inflict on ourselves with our daydreams.

The lives we wish we had.

The feelings we wish we felt.


The human need to feel.

How foolish must we sound to the stones.


Stitch.

Stitch.

Stitch.


Wounds cut so deep, that will make an opening on the other side.


Stitch through the pain. 

Stitch through the dreams.


Stitch.. Stitch.. Stitch..


The needle and the thread.

Of whats to come and whats gone.


Stitch through the heartache.

Stitch through the memories.


Stitch.. 


Till you can no longer remember their faces.

Their smiles.

Your name.


Stitch..


Till you run out of daydreams.

Of memories.

Of breath.


Stitch..


For the life of you.

For the life of your mother.


Leave the dreams to those who still have hope.

Leave the hope to those who still have faith.

Leave the faith to those who still believe.


Your only truth is behind a needle and a thread.

So, stitch like its your only religion. 

Like its the only thing you ever knew.

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.

X.X.MM

On all those nights you left.

I have felt.
I have wept.

I have slept.

And I have dreamt.

Of the day that I was swept.

Into your warmth once more.


But I was taught at the age of 9.

That the world doesn’t always shine.


I was taught at the age of 10.

To wrap my arms around myself and pretend.


I was taught at the age of 11.

That you are really gone, but not forgotten.


And Im just now learning at the age of 26.

That this hole you left in me, can’t be fixed.


No matter how hard I try to burn my lungs with smokes and screams.

They remain empty of life and full of your genes.


Yes, you left me with a monster.

But I taught myself how to breathe underwater.


At the age of 18.

Is when I finally saw the different shades of darkness, and on them I started to lean.


This world is vast.

And the time is running fast.

But I am standing here haunted by your past.


I am standing still.

But I know the drill.

Keep yourself busy and feel the thrill.


Feel the blood rushing through your veins.

Feel the skies pouring life when it rains.


The life you took away from me.

The day my heart started beating faintly. 


I curse that day.

But I am thankful for it anyway.

It made me who I am, in its own fucked up way.