My roads are not sunken,
I have not forgotten how to put
One foot in front of the other
And how to use my sword to cut vines.
Under the skies or under the waters,
I keep a steady pace and my eyes closed.
I see with my mind and feel where the road takes me,
While on the inside I keep dreaming my dreams.
Pic.
The greener the words,
The harder I swallow.
And no matter how hollow the woods look before me,
I’m dreaming of pink tomorrow.
The sweeter the sounds,
The bigger the gap.
Inside my whole heart and the mind and the thought
All I can gather is pieces of scrap.
The lighter the fire,
The rougher the bed.
I tremble and I cuddle in barbed wire
And my flesh is red.
The city of cold,
Of ruins and old
Is giving me plenty of motives to stay.
Why do you cose to run away?
The city of ash,
Of tired and trash
Has given me shelter, support and protection.
Why do you act like it’s an infection?
This city of words,
Of sharp wounds and swords,
Stopped giving me life and a dream long ago.
Why do you act like I am the foe?
Epilogue:
Isn’t poetic justice a wonder?
I suffered so long and alone and I wonder
That if I didn’t trick you, the trick is on me,
And my trick was so easy to see.
I’m all under spells and under a thunder.
I can’t bear the burden of this ugly blunder.
I’m sorry I tried to lie and to steal.
I thought that this city was the real deal.
Every thought you have sleeps in your blood.
Rational, coagulated states of living.
And every time you swallow world and mud,
I feel like I’m getting away with stealing.
Every secret you keep prays for a flood.
Broken gates with intense fear of pain.
And every time you taste the blood,
You annihilate the human strain.
Today I took the road back to Memory Lane, reading old poems and stories and old articles about the music in my life.
Back in 2008, when I started this blog, I never thought I’d go this far with it. Actually, I took a break from blogging and writing all together, in 2010, if my memory serves me right.
It’s funny reliving all these thoughts and feelings and I find it amazing that the same songs still move me.
May 26th was the first day I ever wrote something on my own, not a forum run by idiots. So this year I will celebrate this little thing called blog, since it’s its 5th anniversary. 5 is also my favorite number and my lucky number.
I’ll go back to reading my memoirs. I’m on page 24 out of 32, but I started reading it backwards.
Let’s be weird together,
Share some gum
And spit it out.
I want nothings,
I want doubt.
Share a shower,
Share some food,
Make me feel misunderstood.
Take a blanket,
Cover us.
Hold me in your arms because…
People are not always their skin.
It’s not always dark,
Not always hard.
On the outside we’re all ugly,
On the inside we’re all bloody.
People are not always their dreams.
It’s not always a god,
I’m not always flawed.
On the outside we’re all cold,
On the inside we’re all gold.
People are not always their screams.
It’s not always rage,
Not always a locked cage.
On the outside we’re all blind,
On the inside we’re all mind.
People are not always their deeds.
It’s not always the plan,
Not always the man.
On the outside we’re all static,
On the inside we’re ecstatic.