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. 

My beloved melancholy

The melodies of life can turn to foggy gloom.
Not implying that I feel lost and doomed,
but just swimming in slow subtle chords
mellow arpeggios, sighs and words.

My beloved melancholy stares at my expressionless face
making sure that my feelings are always in their place.
Sensibility based on mellow and graceful sorrow
and the yearning for the past on a dim lit tomorrow.

My beloved melancholy smiles at me like a lover
after a cleverly placed kiss underneath the covers.
In some twisted way she gives me life,
soothes me and protects me from any strife.

My beloved melancholy sweetly whispers,
a sweet voice that is balm to my sores.
She tells me that I should just breathe
reminisce, feel it through my pores.

So with a couple notes end this I must
as my muse bleeds into a pale poetic tragic ending,
my verses turn to ashes and my rhymes into dust
like a soft ballad of plain old pretending.

Chasm of a thought

Coffee mug beside a torrent of electric shocks,
ideas of what was and what could not be.
What succeeded and passed or failed an stood stuck,
thoughts about everything that eyes no longer see.

An idea of you, a sense of everybody a maze of wills,
the events that made the mess that today writes these rhymes.
A self afflicted martyr, the emperor in a palace of chills
where dreams lie in their stone cold confines.

Ideas gently floating in the vacuum of obsessions
through the blue noble blood of sins that like demons of the past
allow me to make the simplest of  pyrrhic concessions,
which is that even while smiling, everything fades fast.

This is like a slow mellow guitar chord
accompanied by nicotine and a whisky glass
it is the storm that we never saw coming
and now have to endure as it comes to pass.

Am I insane for paying tribute to the unchangeable?
For  tragically clawing the linen like the buried alive?
For turning the unusual into the assailable?
Am I insane for letting my feelings drive?