she likes…
to stare into the flame
until her eyes just hurt in pain.
and begging her to sleep
but she will never listen
and she never did.
sleep won’t leave her breathe
and life is all she craves
those poison blades
that cut the veins
with so much blood to give.
the lucid dreamer or it’s just
the pretty little paradox
not even her beloved knows
she is a tiny box of words.
so many putrid flowers grow
and rot, inside her heart.
some long lost memories, that maybe…
they still just hurt a lot.
she always waits for something new
she doesn’t really knows.
the ones who she adores are few
and the pendulum goes…
“tic-tac” in silence, screams!
that little metal clock
its not quite what it seems.
and when she walks– she thinks…
is she alive or dead?
are we just fantasies,
or are we something else,
that live inside some head?
or maybe just reflections
of some old versions of us?
memories who hurt so bad
that they believe they’re really glad?
are we, all people, mad?
buffoons that dance and drink?
a glass of wine, a bit of beer
a little vodka and a tear ?
she likes to smoke and sing
the music pluck her wings
while she’s trying to fly
against the birds and wind.
“does the violinist knows
what the composer felt?
or does the reader shared–
the gruesome pain of the poet ?
just sacrifice, no gain.
creating things they mock.
when everything’s in vain.
and after death, they praise
the ones who were amongst them
in such misery, pain.
it doesn’t matter “who”
and what ‘s the point of it?
we realize our loss
after they’re gone,
and we’re alone.
Just an ironic cause
Comic and tragic too.
And all those silent nights…
the abyss that they dig,
to find the mind behind
into a blackness full of light.
they won’t do it to please!
the motive is not fame!
living two separate lives
one normal, one insane.”
her thoughts, go round and round.
the tic-tac wakes her up.
the pendulum screams “ding-dong!”
and outside is still dark.
while her eyes craved for sleep,
with a cute smile of shame…
she realized again!
her thoughts were just a dream.
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