Bit snooze so far

Can take off...

Wait I like this one!

This be like poem

Yes I love you

-Boy and girl

I hate that bell

Ring ring ring

Throughout my pain, it keeps on

Ring ring ring

Throughout me being useless it keeps on

Ring ring ring

Throughout me being a failure it keeps on

Ring ring ring

Time goes by and I stay quiet

Ring ring ring

But it goes on and on

Ring ring ring

So little time

Ring ring ring

And though the time is little

Ring ring ring

I stay stuck, stuck on reading

Ring ring ring

And I keep getting older

Ring ring ring

And after I'm gone

It will keep on ringing...

Ring ring ring

RING RING RING

RING RING RING

Work, is no work

Time, is no time

Everything is relative.

When you work, you are relaxing

And when you relax, you are working

Time is not real

You can live ten years in a minute

And two minutes in a year.

Life is no life

Life is a dream

Dreaming is our story, our true life,

Because is there that we follow our ambitions

That we are who we are.

We have to make

· The dream our life;

· And a day ten years.

I wonder about the door

The door that hides the

Mystery and dark of life.

I wonder about the door

At night when I feel

Closer to it.

In the morning when

The blood and the water

Fall from the sky.

I wonder about the door

The door that holds

The protectors and the killers.

The door that hides

The ones forgotten.

I wonder about the door

The door where everybody ends

And the only survivors

Are the memories of the souls.

The immortals

Remembered in the earth

That know the secrets of the door

But can only speak

What they knew

Before the void.

I wonder about the door.

When will our meeting be?

My father always told me I should spend more time with you while you were still alive. He always told me to do more memories with you. I always thought that was dumb, that we still had a lot of time and that we already spent enough time together, but now you're gone... I can't stop thinking about the endless afternoons we could have spent discussing history. Countless evenings hearing you read your poems and writings. Endless dinners and lunches hearing you tell your merry tales from your youth and childhood. You were always the perfect storyteller, and even if I was to write a book with all your adventures, it would never be as wonderful as hearing your voice give life to those stories. I miss you so much and I feel like whatever extra time I spent with you, it would never be enough to make your death any less painful, to make me miss you any less. You were there one day and then the next thing I know you're withering away in a hospital bed. I couldn't even say goodbye, because you were already almost sleeping when I went to visit you. I just hope you are in a better place now. Wherever you are I hope you can find eternal peace. Find a place to be the playful person you were. I know you would love to haunt houses and play pranks on people. I hope you might see me from wherever you are graduating from college and becoming a doctor. I hope I can make you proud. I will always miss you and love you.

The dripping of water was incessant. The sound of the rain was so loud and quick that it sounded like a million knives swishing through the air and colliding alike an explosion against the deck. The howling dogs and the screeching of the dammed souls brought by the wind had scared most of the sailors into the cabin. However, the Captain stood firm, spinning the creaking wheel, soaking wet by the rain and iluminated by the light of the roaring thunder that clashed against the foaming wild sea. And I stood afar singing a sweet melody enticing the sea and the sky to be angrier still. And trying for naught to bewitch the lone Captain that challenges firmly the rage of the oceans.

Blue sky.

High sun.

The wind combs my hair.

I can hear the birds

Tweeting soft melodies,

Singing a lullaby.

And I stand here…

Under a tree

Eyes made of glass, fixed

On the last moment, the last breath.

And the body turns to grass, to flowers, the infinity.

You’re my winter, he’s my spring

You’re my winter, he’s my spring

The sadness has melted away

The spring has finally reached me

You’re my winter, he’s my spring

The winter keeps frosting away,

But the spring keeps shining through it

You’re my winter, he’s my spring

One day I’ll leave here

And only spring will remain

You’re my winter, he’s my spring

But still will I miss my winter one day

You were always just a spring that was trying not to wither away.

How long have I been a borrower? How did I become this entity? I’m no longer sure. Time passes me, flows around me in a macabre dance and then moves forward... but I can’t move forward. I’m stuck with this task. The task of removing the weight of the ones that are most hurt.

You could think that, since I have this job, I would eventually succumb to the weight of my knowledge, my pain. Well, not really... After some time you learn to let go of your emotions. I see flashes of them, vibrating with the millions of memories within me. I acknowledge them, and let them go. This has made me into quite the dull... person, I guess? Not sure what I am... Where was I? Oh yes, as I was saying I am no longer able to feel any emotion, can’t really empathise with the ones I help no more... I just know I have to help them. I can’t feel the bliss of looking at a beautiful sunrise next to your soulmate, nor can I feel the sadness of losing that same being in a cold winter night...

You can always recognize those that need help, their eyes look hollow and dead, their shoulders are slumped almost as if they are carrying the whole world in their backs, the faces look pale and ghostly and the legs look ready to fall, to never get back up again. Once I approach them and release them of their painful memories, their contorted expressions turn into ones of confusion at first. Then, the ignorance starts to settle and with it comes the bliss of not knowing the sharp edges of life. Their memories play in my head almost like an endless movie, I see their emotions, feel... try to feel their pain and then let go of them. They mash with the other memories inside me in a chaotic dance of life and death, full of sorrow and despair, but I...

I...

I can’t feel anything.