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.




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.


Till you can no longer remember their faces.

Their smiles.

Your name.


Till you run out of daydreams.

Of memories.

Of breath.


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.

Missing Her

I hear her in the music.
I hear her in the books.

For she is my favorite.

I see her in the clouds. 

I see her in the moon.

For she is mine.

I miss her like the mornings miss the stars.

Like the plants miss the rain.

Like the sun misses the moon.

I miss her in all the ways you can imagine.

And all the ways you don’t.

The shape of her.

Her scent.

Her lips.

Her smile.

Her dimples.

Her heart beats in my ear.

The no vacancy sign illuminates brighter than the sun.

For my mind is hers.

My thoughts are hers.

My soul is hers for burning.

My words consist of her anatomy.

The way she carries herself inside and out.

How many beautiful atoms it took to make some one like her.

Oh the questions I’d like to ask God.

And whenever you read this my Goddess, I hope it puts the biggest smile on your face. 

I hope your dimples go as deep as the ocean.

I hope happiness always finds you.

For you are mine.

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.

A Different Scenario

As I lay in bed doing the usual twists and turns, creating different scenarios in my head to help me fall asleep,
I thought if it would be possible to not think of you for once.
Not make you the star of every scenario for once.

Can I think about something else while you’re sitting right there at the corner of my brain watching me fail?
Laugh and show off those dimpled cheeks that always seem to keep me off trail.

And i’ve always fell for those innocent faces with those devious souls.
That always seem to steal what beats within me and leave me with empty holes.

I cant seem to remember what it felt like when you didn’t occupy my thoughts.
What did I used to think about?

Then I remembered.
I had some one else back then occupying my thoughts ..
Should I start looking for some one else?
Or do I keep walking blindly stumbling upon perfectly imperfect weapons that fit my hand perfectly.
Aim it at whatever still beats and make new holes again.

Have some one else occupy my thoughts ..
Could that be the answer of getting you out of my head for good ?

Who am I kidding, asking all these questions when I know damn well you wont be reading this.
Not unless I told you the way you make me tremble when I see your face.
The day I can actually remember how to speak in your presence.