The Dark HeartYour dark artsKilled my heart;Thus I douseAll my damageWith the beautyYou stole from me.
The Love Hasn't Died YetThe grave is emptied,Long as been my heart:My spirit screams, it yearns -My soul is damaged, emptied,Buried & heartless,Yet it holds the desire forThe grave nearby.Freshly dug dirt lies scattered,Resembling the shards of my heart:But there must be a whole lying beneath -She lies in wait for love to refindThe poor, wandering soulThat searches the graveyard,That searches for me.
The Genre of My MindSome genresCan't be spokenBy the poetic word.
A Letter to ChangeFor those afraid of change,I tell them I'm afraid of change, but... I don't know... Actually, yes, exactly that: I don't know. I have no idea what needs to be changed or even how to change it. I guess if I'm afraid, then I'm afraid of the possibilities... Will I become someone else? Will I do the wrong thing and cause life to become worse? I'm stuck here. Of all the probabilities of the possibilities, I feel forced to remain unchanged. It's safe here. But... Is this even living?I love to write, and I'm great it. Everyday it's something new, and it's the best action within my set of routine. I like to loom at art - perhaps I could try drawing. I'm so sick of of the empty hours I spend wondering what to do, then doing the exact same thing as I did yesterday... Perhaps tomorrow I'll pick up a pencil, find some paper, and see what happens. Maybe I'll go for a walk and see what thought cross my mind. Who knows what philosophical ideas are hiding up there?But... I have this routine
Necrophiliac RapeI remember your gaspAs the cloth fell off,And that tight graspYou held on my arm -And all becauseOf what, you said?I'm sorry I showedToo much ribcage,Considering the secondYou ever saw me -I knew I was dead.But isn't fuckingThe leftover skeletonJust the same asThe rape you did whenI was still alive?My skin can speakAs well as my bones:They tell of your horror,But never, never,Did they demand:"Fuck me."
Vivir [Live]No vivo porque,Puedo,Vivo porque...Quiero.¿Por qué vive?¿Vive a vivir,O a vivir una vida?
Understand.I can understand now.That Hell I lived,I didn't know it then,And now that I know -It haunts me, dearly...But I was only a child,A slow one in fact,So how could I have known?She left me, but I learned.I was given no teacher,But that hellish childhoodDid teach me something:To and how to understand.