There is a crack in the sky
where the light shines throught
it's not yours
it's definitely not mine
but we'd share the shine
because of your cracks
There is a hole in the ground
or maybe just a widow of dirt;
there is a hole
in our bodies
revealing the underground
and the dirt
from the underneath.
There is a beacon of time
where wishes come to light
where you can hear the biggest earrings tingle
where life just keeps on living on and on and on and on.
There is a tree which roots are hugs
isn't it nice?
to think about an oak just hugging you a lot?
even if you can't find a body?
What's beneath shall arise
because too much time in darkness
make those fragile limbs
feel light coming from everywhere.
It's cool if you're a Kardashian though
but where I come from
it's not the coin that shines the brightest
it's the wit filled empathy
the strength of will and love
it's not the ripped body
nor the wicked fake smile
where I am it is the fertility in our tears
the hugging oak
and the biggest and childish laughter
that cracked once the sky.
She's so sweet for a seven year old,
she wears pretty pink lips
she plays with dolls
she cleans her teeth more than anybody else
her smile is pretty
her eyes are deep blue
she can't say no to old people
she can't be social at school
She dresses like a princess
her smell is always nice
she keeps the knives out of the kitchen
she keeps the blood for herself
well, isn't she pretty?
she didn't cry as a baby
she couldn't speak of her dreams
she wouldn't hug her grandma
she wasn't scared of monsters
she just sung to herself a lullaby
she kept the wings in pieces
she made wigs out of leaves
she grasped and sighed while sighting
she had the murder on her hands
she wears pretty pink lips
she dresses like a princess
she holds death like no one else
she's a genetic fire
she's above human desire
she's got something to make the devil smile
if it was one on one
the devil wouldn't understand
how fire is evolving
if it's his realm, why is so much power
on a little one
she was just a baby
she held very cold creatures
her drawings had no eyes
her hair was golden like
when she told me
my skin turned white
the whisper revolved
around the names
she has very cool features
a little pointy nose
she cleans her teeth more than everybody else
she washes her hands
she smiles while washing dishes
she keeps her head uplifted
she dances by herself
with no joy
well isn't she lovely
her cheeks are child-like chubby
her hands can barely close
while holding knives
I hope she gets
all the world to her hands
my baby killer eyes
just hope she doesn't
picks me for her next little treat.
It was sense
a retrospective vision
but always looking forward
Inmersive grain like distorted voices
Like the minute before
It found itself climbing
like a tic toc time machine
In form of pulse
It felt growing
It felt based
It felt biased
It felt lonely
and it felt harmless
But in the end it was self inflicted.
#knot #latinenglish #flow
She said everything written reminded her of everyone else except her
she thought every phrase was disrispectful
she thought she was in her way out
she stopped reading.
She said life is full of regrets
I heard, but disagreed
I saw her lips painted in different color scales, but never blue,
as she read out loud phrases out of magazines.
She liked me better drunk, cause alcohol washed away my words,
That's when I always told her how much I like her,
She liked me better when I smiled
but I'm human and we're sometimes sad or angry.
She loved my kisses, but cigarettes made dirt
and only the defeated kiss dirt,
and she's only starting her own battles against monoscopic industries.
I washed away regrets, and write for her about her,
in a singular idea of how love forms in ethereal bounds,
thin air will touch us when we want to,
and strong kisses went soft.
She sang funny melodies about destruction,
I climbed them in imaginary steps,
and atop of her musical mountain I screamed:
"you're the one that I love".
It felt moist at the beginning,
and flare was felted.
Sunday was another morning,
today kept everything away,
but that feeling
that heavy feeling
it felt intense
as the flare glew ´til today.
We were the blackest moon,
the misdemeaning arrows through time,
a crystal ball with snow,
a silent stare from the cave,
a heavy glimpse.
Are we the both as one can be are
Are the same meaning of a flipping coin are we
we are astrologic as we are
and nothing else can do for now.
As long as we can do.
He had lovely hair.
.Now he's bald
He had a nice smile.
Now he's loosing his teeth
His eyes were big and colorful.
His glasses now covers in sunlight reflection.
His skin was soft and pure.
His flesh is rusting
He had a bright mind.
Now he's going insane
But a soul so gentle than even death respects.
We were the true one believers of change,
the change of systemic abuse,
the use of the levers
the break on decisions
the last ones on Earth.
We were the true one feeders of dirt,
the ones who thought the plants could hear
the simplicities between sunrises and cups of coffee.
We were the true one electronic users,
the users of new melodies,
the composers of tomorrow's gatherings,
the great great parents of feelings,
the bearded dusty ones.
So we were one together,
on a forsaken path,
and we were one and only,
united, caretakers of life.
And we took the first example,
that came in a text book,
to share to care and care to share,
that the ones who believed it before,
were bound to bigger conditions.
As nothing changes, everything is changing.
Shape shifters work under the shadows of time.
They whisper the glass sweat that alcoholic beverages leave on the wood tables.
Let's walk together again, as the ones who did it, as we did it, before we doubted of change.