One with the brambles

 just consume me and let me grow my thorns

burn it, pour the gasoline.

let me be nothing.

let me be moss. 

let be nothing and be consume by my forestk, by my fire magic.  

let me go away from this nothing,  from this sacrifice 

to no one, to an empty god.

I wont give myself to the nothing, I won't grow like black mold on walls that are not mine to defend, you can do that alone, you can find your way throught the forest you have created. I hope.... I will you to find it barren and empty, you give nothing, you find nothing. 

I'll wait here like the black birds waiting for the storm to clash. 

You won't grow anything and it will turn against you. you will get what you give and face the emptiness.  the barren field that grow only your nothingness. 

covered in flame and blood.

just let me be free of all this 

let me burn it to the roots 

the putrid, the rot, let me grow out of this. 

Please, someone,

anyone............

save me. 

Mirrors

 Not able to look on them, 

and see defeat staring back. 

The shame. 

Break them in thousands, push the shards of glass inside the flesh, 

let the blood run and be the sacrifice to a new mistake, 

that only hurts me. 

Let the reflection go, the blindness expand, the silence grow. 

Because I shouldn't fill it with begs, desperately wants of something that yesterday wasn't desired, neither today, just in the brief moment of the end and revelations. And now I'm so ashamed of praying to a false god of nothing, even for a small moment of rage extasis at losing the game. 

Such a bad loser. For someone that always loses.

La ultima de las sombras.

Espiritus. Nadas. 

La repeticion de patrones. Constelaciones, el universo.

Y los granos de arena. 

la caricia de piel, el roce de labios, el suspiro, el orgasmo. De quien? De cual? 

Acaban dispersas, enredadas, recuerdos de noches oscuras. 

Todas mis sombras bailando en las galaxias de mi cama. Fantasmas, memorias, traidas de otros reinos, dejadas detras, cuando la soledad vuelve. El unico amor que queda, el recuerdo de despertares, presencia, calor y besos.

Todas las sombras que he sido, que soy, existo, breve, permanente. Dejando rastros de perfume en sabanas malcuidadas, de niños perdidos, malcrecidos. Tiene mi sombra el mismo efecto en los cuartos donde han quedado atrapadas? Sueñan con mi extasis, con abrazarme al otro lado de la cama? 

Las Nadas que nos quedan, en este mundo que solo acepta vacio, con las Julietas enconventadas sin esperanzas y los casanovas atrapados en sus espejos. Las locuras enamoradas, solo material de terapia. La resistencia a dar, a entregarse. 

Dejandonos con corazones vacios, 

Y camas llenas de sombras. 

Tragedias

II

Suplico.

Silencio. 

Distant Warmth

Falling to the ice of the atlantic

For going in search of distant warmth.

Heavy heart.

The mind scream. Do not think it.

All will be well

Falling to the ice of the atlantic.

The wind shook the world, the time was up. 

This is how it ends.

Free fall.

Beat of the waves.

For going in search of hidden warmths that only glow after gold offerings. 

Little fickle of lights.

Sailing to empty harbours,

But it's freezing here,

With the dead and the rot

And the midnight sun.

That the promise of the desert,

and its warmth, seemed worthy of the pain of the burnts.

And this wind blows so hard, dismantling all the metal around. 

It doesn't carry prayers anymore, only the promise of turning me into the nothing I am. Deep down the seabed, in a plundered ocean with  nothing left.

The fear of the death,

Coming suddenly, and accepted.

Where I go, no one waits for me.

All ends here.

And all will be well.

    

 Crack of dawn,

Wake up, pulse on the mouth.

Bloodied lips.

Get up again.

 Y ya no se correrme, 

sin el ritmo de tu musica, 

y el fantasma de tus dedos.