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. 

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.

Loneliness is glass

Loneliness is glass, reflection of a happy past,
of things you had, now things you lack.
a surface to press you cheek unto, just to ask
where is your life, where is that old spark?

Loneliness is glass, a clear thing that deceives
because fog is all that you really know
ever after the stabbing you received
when time as a dagger sank itself low.

Loneliness is glass, the shattered type
the witness of how you bleed out in grace
and the puddle you make on the floor gets ripe
as you twitch and contort your face.

Loneliness is to remember while you forget,
it is to frown while you pathetically smile.
It is the sad soft and cold wind of when the sun sets
and the night makes it all turn vile.