Lack of sound and Lack of color.

What's the destiny of those who love
in sound frequencies that are long gone?
Like the strum of a guitar in front of a smiling face
through a romantic verse as its saving grace.

What about lying in a rooftop sharing dreams?
Making life to be more than it really seems.
The silly promises that hit like a drug
spike our emotions and end on a hug.

Where is the rush of energy where silence dies?
The dawn of possibilities that everything defies.
Expectations, passion, sheer affection and desire
that made it so nothing was ever dire.

Was all that a dream? A jest? A phase?
A cruel joke just stuffed in my face?
Did I tailored my soul for it to turn into mist
searching for a light that no longer exists?

Uncontrolled Substances

Hello, my name doesn't matter,

but I'm also addicted to attention.

A caring thought, a dopamine rush

and I'm on my way to salvation.

The problem begins when junkie old me

gets cold turkey on a chilly afternoon.

Skies turn ashen and my heartbeat fades

while my senses start feeling marooned.

I know it's a problem and believe me I try

to keep things calm in my zone.

Then logic comes and screws things up

and my self esteem leaves me alone.

I know I shouldn't crave a smile and nice words,

but who would reject a sweet respite?

It's so warm and comforting to feel like I matter

before going to sleep at night. 

Then waking up feeling like a king

with enough energy to take on the world.

Feeling motivation to create a million things

where positive feelings unfold.

Then what to do if not struggle against

this deep strong affliction of mine

and describe with words what I feel tonight

while me and my addiction untwine. 

A Thoughtful Limbo

A Thoughtful Limbo

What could I have done wrong
to fall in the empty recess of non-intention?
To be like a flesh and bone shooting star
and lose the delights of your attention.

Maybe I was too high on emotion,
feeling happy, euphoric and fine.
I talked too much and I locked myself
out of the dimension of your time.

I know we are friends, surely its clear,
but the distance grows larger by the day.
I act normal, like nothing happened,
but my inner workings have turned to clay.

I was not in love, but I was loving it.
I was not obsessed, I was only healing.
For the moment I was basking in the sunlight.
No compromises, just a new beginning.

Yet here I lie, back where I started.
Uncertain, confused and not so bold.
I feel like I've been left out of the house
and outside it's so bitterly cold.

There's no way I can explain this to you
without sounding like I am pouting.
So I am left with this heavy silence
where only verses end up sprouting.

Unbalanced

Unbalanced

Am I the hero or the hanged
the pariah or the devil's hand
the thought of silence that kills
or the clarity of spoken wills?

Am I real or a shooting star?
Am I near or just really far?
Is it fine to hope and yearn
or do I still have much to learn?

Am I a happy song or a tragedy
the melody of smiles or a sour malady
the crackle of lighting that glimmers
or a brew of doubts that simmers?

This is the crossroad I walk
Unbalanced and unable to talk
Is it fine to lie down and desire
or will I be burned in this fire?

Throwback into feelings

Slumped in my chair, a mix of joy and fears

I lie in stupor after a one volatile high.

For an instant I felt like I haven't in years

without any reason and with no one in sight.

I am not charmed, not even in love,

yet for a second I felt no bitter bother.

It was not about lust, but feeling high above

like when you spend time with a significant other.

In my so short ecstasy of pristine feelings

I traveled to my past, saw myself as I used to be

I felt the rush of energy, a slight sliver of healing

and the sight of a mind's eye that could no longer see.

Now I am here again, hungover like before,

trying to retrace my steps to that moment in time.

Curious like a child who found a place to explore,

but tired as an adult who had just committed a crime.

I have no idea if this miracle will ever return.

I just know that it felt sweet while it was in sight.

A piece of my past self that proudly dared to burn

and warm my passage through this endless night.


This is for all of you who had been living lives that are a little distant from romance and relationships (mostly because of the things you been through and trust issues), but for a split second you feel just like you used to feel back when you trusted easily and were full of illusion for no apparent reason. 

The nectar of nightmares comes from the unforgiven

Your big brown eyes are like a sad malady
and your soft pale skin rouses my sense of distress
like a succubus you drain me out, I can't fight
slowly getting me deeper into a sorrowful mess.

You may never know how much of you still lives
in the thoughts that sometimes get me upset,
sweet memoirs that sting, piercing me like knives
yeah, those memories you chose to forget.

This is not a plead for you to return, lost queen.
It has been so long that you may no longer remember
that the first time your curse in my eyes was seen
was a cold afternoon on a mellow September.

I shall admit it, I am still half broken
and for that you may mock me, give my mind no rest
while at the same time, your silence becomes so outspoken
that it screams, destroys and shatters any kindness that's left.

Your voice becomes a cacophony is you're not there.
Your beauty becomes filth if beside me you don't lie
and your juices become the forbidden nectar of nightmares,
broken promises and a past that refuses to die.

Modern loathing in words

I really hate how modernity just screwed it.
with its lack of color and sterile scent,
compared to times where limitations were hated
and rules were made to be bent.

I do not talk with the mind of a teen
but of an adult who kept a sharp mind,
refused to be bound, kept his senses keen
and became an outcast, few of a kind.

Whatever happened to diversity
and to people with a thick skin?
Now everything became a damn insult
and any verb a mortal sin.

People giving up and making excuses,
falling down like soulless dolls.
Accepting a half-life without any uses,
complying to a system that makes them dull.

Some people call this to become mature,
I call those claims a waste of breath.
Because letting our freedoms to be obscured
is the quickest path to our inner death.