Freedom of the night

Is the middle of the night and I am feeling the kind of tired that feels like a breath of fresh air. Its then that I recognise the colours of my eyes to then remember how to be somebody, even if it hurts to death. Is that everyone could be sleep and I’m falling, but, I feel capable of letting the smile drop and feel the ache on my muscles. 

Is the sweet part between the existence of them and me, that always leaves me this three hours where I can lighten up and identify the void by its terrible name. And maybe I’m not alright most of the time, changing colours as if I was a light. However, I’m fine when its night time because I am defeated enough to not remember to pretend.

TA.

Learn

I want to understand you as a bridge riddle and is midmorning torture that leaves me grabbing the glass, hoping to know which languages your tongue knows. 

I am going to dementia to keep hoping that I will figure out what is that you say with your signs and twisted smile. But I am desperate in that I sit and take the time to read word for word to find out where you come from. 

I want to cherish you as if you were the last gift to earth because I have sinned before. I have loved with these criminals hands and I haven’t hurt anyone else but me. That is why I need to know where those laughs you know come from, in order to understand every change of mood as if you were a backwards clock and it's madness. 

But I want to love you as if I didn’t have to fear the ghosts that still murmur tragedies when I seek to accept that you exist when my sentence hasn’t ended. 

TA.

Commitment

I used to like my birthday, my celebration of life, but somewhere along the way, I forgot to not think. From one moment to another my hand stopped mid writing my name and from there I don’t know what happened. I left, I walked for hours and hours, to stay comfortable in a hammock, forgetting everything that had to happen to exist, I fell asleep. 

(I don’t know, call it broken heart, trauma, sadness, curse and damage)

I only know that it took its years

and it has its ghost 

and somehow, I started my way back through haunted catacombs that were full of pain and wounds. This is how I found myself remembering what I had burry under a familiar name. 

{…}And I know I should explain, but I don’t want to nor I can {…}

What I do know is: I still write with a handwriting that must be revised and I wouldn’t say I like my birthday although I am interested in my anniversary of commitment to life.

TA.

Hear me out

I long with clumsiness,

for silly faces while we have a dance off in the middle of the night, for you holding my hand as I stumble through the day. And that may your name be what leaves from my lips when I scream for help. 

God I demand a belonging,

that heals my soul: From when we are lying in bed eating ice cream and discussing everything that we would save about us. To the way you would hold me when my lungs don’t know how to breath and to sitting next to you when your demons are playing chaos in your mind. 

I long…I long for drama

for the way that you would yell at me in exasperation, to then look me from the corner of your eye when I couldn’t help but laugh because I hadn't learn how to cry. In that we are drinking tea under the stars sitting on a white flag and somehow we found ourselves in every red light to say we missed each other. 

I ask please for joy 

to get to know you and feel less alone.

TA.

The solution

We figured it out, it's torture 

I have fired the psychologist, abandoned the church, my parents are locked in the dining room and I’m burning my house. Don’t worry that I understand, everything is clear and explicit between the lost part of the eighth book.

I have lit the cigarette, my cats are running on the roof and my friends have good intentions but I don’t need that, so estrangers are better.

I have caught the solution that kills itself every time I woke up. I am in a peace that now I can throw my papers to the wind and leave a note in the ten houses on my block and let the world turn.

Because this is it we are okay, I know that I have to take a chair and serve the tea with my blood. We are perfect, letting the pills go and writing dementia that I’m screaming at sealed lips and I kiss you with teeth that leave you burning.

TA.