monochrome

I disappointed myself again,

what a surprise (ironic). 

I thin this is accurate, 

if you think of it, 

maybe I like color because

I only see my life in black & white. 

But mostly grey. 

And it gets darker most often. 

I'm in one of those black spots. 

I'm certain there's white somewhere, 

but I'm not strong enough, 

not brave enough. 

And I already know everything that you could say.

That's why I don't want to hear it. 

It doesn't work. It's meaningless. 

Moon

I wish I could be like you.

19042020

Is tough to be a bug.
The world looks so big,
and you're so small.
Everything is big compared to you,
everyone looks like a giant.

Is tough to be a bug.
Every day feels like it could be the last.
Always running, trying to escape catastrophe.
You're already used to being look at
with pity, with disgust, with anger,
for no reason.

Is tough to be a bug.
Nobody cares about you.
They only see you as an annoyance.
Your existence bothers everyone.
Nobody likes you.

Is tough to be a bug.
So, sometimes, it's almost relieving,
to know your life is short and
maybe tomorrow you won't suffer any more.

how did the sky look?

It was a perfect day.
Clear skies, bright sun, perfect weather.
No one would've said
that it was going to be ruined like that.
I'm sorry.
My head is messy.
I love sleeping under the perfect sun,
but is not like that inside my brain.
I've got a thunderstorm every night,
fog every morning
and rain in the afternoon, not a cool, calm rain,
more like a heavy, windy, cold and piercing rain,
the one that feels like it's about to hail.

So my sky is a fucking mess.

Grief

It can be really hard to talk about it some times.
Someone who was here before,
now they're not.
And there are so many things I could have done,
so many things I could have say.
If I could go back in time, I will.
I'll go back, to tell you I love you,
more times, more seriously,
I'll do better.
I just need to learn how to go back.

-hey

I didn't write euphoria or bearing fruit,
I'm sorry.
I was busy suffering.
It was a new kind of pain, too intense to write.
Too intense to even think about it.
Is not okay yet, I don't think it will be.
But it's in truce now.
I just came to say that I'm sorry,
and I'll try to come back tomorrow,
well, later, and keep this shit going.

Pink, like your brain

Me estoy derritiendo.
Y me sigue faltado el tiempo,
se me hace difuso, se pasa volando.
Y querría haber llegado cuando tocaba,
con la cabeza bien puesta,
con el cerebro en su sitio,
pero no ha podido ser,
no sé si podrá ser algún día.
Y siento que esto es un engaño,
que estoy dando forma a un trozo de barro
que no va a aguantar ni media tormenta.
Pero no pasa nada,
de todas formas nadie tenía esperaba nada.
Y si tengo la suerte de que el barro seque,
de que el horno funcione,
que no se destroce la pieza a medio cocer,
con un poco de paciencia, un poco de tacto,
tal vez pueda pintarlo de rosa.