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. 

Tragedias

I

Circe invocando los vientos que alejan, 

y alargan esta Iliada. 

Alas quebradas, derretidas, cara secandose en pieles dormidas. 

Y despiertas, 

Heroidas llorando. 

Quizas me encuentres, si grito, si me rompo la voz, si me quiebro la garganta. 

La oscuridad que retrasa el viaje,

El camino de vuelta, la niebla, las noches de luna muerta. 

El rastro de espadas de cobre. 

El Sol de las Hesperides, años luz de este reino de musgo y brezo, 

donde no llega calor ni brillo, 

donde el frio se carga en los huesos. 

Qué dejó la espera de camas vacias, de dormir helado, y de vacio cerrado? 

Tormentas contra los Acantilados de la Locura, viajes a Gigantes dormidos. 

Las botellas gastadas, solo el veneno queda, 

la cicatriz y la herida malcosida. 

Quizas me encuentres, 

navegando esta tragedia de siglos de marcha y batalla. Quizas los dioses contemplen alguna clemencia. 

Sin tripulacion ni quilla,

sin viento en las velas.

La luz espera. 

Pacts with Devils

Written in infernal and with blood, 

the pacts, the demons, the lies

But you don't win this battle.

The chains break. They're cracked. 

Your heart, ripped off an open chest, where nothing lived, the rot consuming way before your death. 

Offered sacrifices to break the pact with demons. Accepted and burned. 

There is a dance macabre celebrating this victory. A small one, a last one, the end of an era of battles. 

Narcissus drowned on the lies of salvation and hopes of better worlds. Oh how I love your dead seed, your murdered children and my hands covered in blood. Oh how close I was from the broken and the mad, how liberating to win the wings out of this inferno of bullshit and torture minds. The spirit grows, iluminating the whole ascend to a world in ruins, but alive, where you cannot reach, the walls built for the first time in the strongest stone, it will resist the strongest winds, fiery curls dancing on it. 

The last time I pronunced your name. Your first death. The knife and sand burying fast. The Nothing left behind. The Blessed Nothing.