The blue period

My depression is fake

I cut myself between the cartilage because I never feel that what I say is honest

I feel constantly annoyed

annoyed by getting out of bed

annoyed by the all-time smile

annoyed by the never-ending fight

annoyed of the fake that is bleach on the throat

And I don't have depression

I have the blue period of the month

I go to bed tired and broken to the bone

and I rise as if I was an equal to a veteran

It is my guilt that I usually swallow with my food, which then turns to shame on my skin and blood lashes for the soul.

And it is as I say but never explained what it is to not have depression

while all I have is a deep sadness

That is related to the world situation

Because it's not that I get distracted and haven't finished a book since I'm 18

It is not that I stay disconnected from the world, thinking that my veins speak to me in voices that only my mind knows how to translate

Is that everything is invented by me

I am a beacon in the storm of my creation

It is selfishness and evil wanting to be more than I am less.

My depression is not what everyone hears

My depression is not true

Because it is not what you believe.

Ta.

My heart for you

My heart is

used

old

and aged.

It feels as if papier-mâché shaped it,

as if the kicks of children make the heart beat

that the paint of a crazy hat gave its color

And all that it asks is the order of a tyrant

My heart

Likes to bet the value of my whole existence

it's the colour of the sunset

It has the depth of the ocean

the mystery of the pyramids.

It looks like a mirage in a storm

It feels like lost in the triangles

And calm as in the eye of a hurricane

My heart

It was never mine

Always bouncing off the hands that found it wasted by me.

Always longing for a coat in the cold of my abuse

Always wanting to find a friend to chat with for a while.

My heart

It's boring

Is romantic

And it's all you want if you hang around.

Ta.

The three times

Your fingers were cold, your voice was shaking, and the cars were honking to get us to move. Everything was too much and everything was summed up in your red eyes that looked at me and promised never to give me the abandonment that my name had.

That would be the middle.

My lips were purple because the nails had been covered in band-aids and the cigarettes had been spent on my lungs. You were ahead, by my side and behind, everything you thought you knew was being destroyed before your eyes.

Everything you had denied had turned into a nightmare that you couldn’t wake up from, everything was an exposed nerve and you wanted to confess to me.

But, between the city of the dead and the summer trees, I grabbed you in my arms and told you that you could flee to me.

That would be the beginning.

We were sitting, probably somewhere in Buenos Aires, it was cold but you were without a jacket and I was in shorts, the world was quiet.

The end of the world was what that year was called, my heart was broken, someone had died, someone had left, something harmful you had said.

You were with sewn lips, you did not say what your throat demanded that you explained, you stayed on my side with the nerve of not knowing what to do. My eyes were wet, my lungs were shaking, my mind screamed in anguish but not a single tear fell.

You were still quiet, there were no cars, no people, no life, we were two strangers without having to explain.

That would be the end.

Ta.

Missing a stranger

The months with its climate can go by that my feet will start to drag leaves to then drag the echo of another lonely night. And my bones know that today another one of your drunken words will come. It's that my lips will tremble as they savoured the past in which you brought me the heat of alcohol. And I know that at some other time we would have been a promise that the wind could never have taken away.

But that was then and this is now, 

the now where my fingers do no longer know how to answer what doesn't move them, as they don't know how to close the door that used to be a close heart of you. 

But lives have passed since the last time our voices came together in harmony, and at that moment you said the same thing as now as I in that second thought the same as on this summer fall night.

Somewhere in us, I understand that perhaps and maybe you have honest feelings when you say it. That it is like the cat looking for affection in my legs that always likes to run away from everything that wants to give me that extra life necessary to keep breathing. 

However, I also know how your black eyes were never reflected in the path of mine, that yours are words from the beginning of a game.

But it is as I said, the weeks have passed with the regression of everything that we had survived. My hair has moulded in the absence of your gestures and my heart has gotten older, his mind flickers and your name is forgotten. 

So if you send me a missing me that is the same as greeting a stranger, it will leave me with the taste in my mouth that I can never explain and I no longer have a smile to remember. Nor I longer have the fingers that crave to catch.

Now, I only have the balcony that knows me better than you will ever do, 

Now I see myself only available to say that I can't keep saying you goodbye

Ta.

Wine and death

What were you thinking about when you saw the bottle?

Did you thought: "Oh, this will be my last day"

Or about the sarcastic message you sent as a lifeline?

Did you use the fuzzy fingers on your hand to figure out how many breaths you had left?

It’s that doubts still flood me in the memory of the eight,

in that if you stayed awake until the night mixed with dawn and thought about what was that pushed you and that broke you.

Or is it that in a broken bottle you saw all the answers and just maybe you wanted to bleed your pains away?

I do not get it

Although I do

Thus I reject it

 

But 

How is it that we went from promises for tomorrow to silence between all of us?

What language had that loneliness that no one bothered to translate?

What had those lyrics that talked about sleeping through life that everyone turned into hymns?

That same hymns where you mixed sadness with a misty joy.

Was it the secrecy of the night?

Was it that time didn’t exist and you were cold?

Or that the bottle had already lost its use so you looked for a new one inside your body?

Ta.

Bitter love

People whose love was never answered turn bitter, they are the tick of the cheek tooth and the breaking of the teeth that give the cut to the fangs. Those who leave their hearts in their touch and always end up becoming a bullet that blooms in the sternum of those who shoot - the sadness is that they bloom decades later and they are never the shooter -

They become surly, in the definition of the word, that touching their skin is like taking wood to sand and expecting a romance from that connection. 

It is to look with a desire that is translated into shouts from churches but to receive the electrocution of the unfortunate.

Those who love without protection, those who send every letter, give the hug that lasts a few more seconds, who smile with the simple saying of choose me me me. 

They turn to broken glass, they turn to midnight sighs and the ink of every bad writer.

They are what remains when they say I love you and they only get the silence that withers their bones and make their soul disappears. 

They are no longer what one saw and are now only poisoned words in a reality that is no longer spoken in the early hours of the morning.

And they are branded as prisoners of war who are lost in transit and left in exile where everyone forgets that they ever existed.

Ta.

Our last memory

Its 2018 and I am in a class where a philosopher is discussed, who until that day for me was closer to a dead person than to a thinking mind. Class is a background sound, as  Sunday's rainy days and my dog's barking that still sounds like everything we could have been.

I look out the window to see people that are late for class, that are escaping with a beer in their hands, that are agile and clumsy, and how they stop and observe the eyes with which they talk. The world is spinning around me, it's between noon and night, it's my last year of college and everything should be at the reach of the blink of an eye.

However, I look at the cobblestones of the streets of San Telmo and I remember an afternoon in 2016, it was from Monday to Friday, it was with my fingers painted in ink and my hair as a curtain. The background sound was the screaming of a cafeteria and the footsteps of an unfinished lunch. I know that the world was expanding while I tried to catch a pain in writing so the rest was of no importance in my desperation to translate.

And it is our last memory, it is me in 2018 with a bitter smile and I in 2016 stopping the expansion of the universe, turning off the annoying sound and continuing to move my fingers while I watched you reach me so that you would say: "Is that your next masterpiece? ".

The class lasted an hour and a half, my friends still had their notes, their lighters and their complaints.

Life continued to happen while I said goodbye to the last forgotten moment of us, that day in 2016 in a cafeteria among several others. At a time when the planet did not rotate, my lungs did not expand, my heart did not burn for you.

One second where all that mattered was that you didn't know that what I was writing was how it hurt not to be able to tell you that I loved you until all my memory was consumed.

 

Ta.

Blood and acid

Dream about fairies and princesses

Flowers and sugars

Think of a castle as the promise of a better future

Close your eyes and watch yourself escape midnight

Think that every apple has a salvation

Create riddles for your bridges and stay cross-legged hoping that they will come

With sharp sword

The boots with echoes

The attractive smile

Hair in the wind

Hoping to rob you of all your troubles.

Hope that it's a dream come true.

And that's bullshit.

Destroy the castle to build an empire

Open your eyes and bleed the tragedies of the world to know better.

Stretch your legs and learn to run faster than your demons.

Use a bow and arrow that are more deadly than any weapon in the world.

Cut your hair short so you can fight without disadvantage

Keep the smile in your eyes so only the daring know the truth.

May your footsteps have no sound but make the Hades tremble.

Be of broken bones and acid.

Use your cunning to win championships

Find the answer to hex

And save yourself at the end of the day.

Ta.

Hate is the only word

I hate that I'm going to die in Argentina

I hate knowing the truth that I'm trapped in this land that I don't hate.

I hate the injustice that breaths here.

I hate the misery that is cultivated

I hate the corruption that spreads like wildfire

I hate I hate I hate that in this country everything ends in the form of a paper town.

And mother is that I know that everything is a fight, that I must fight for what I want and what is fair. But I wonder if it is not that you are blind to the fact that we are twenty years old and made of eighty, that we were born kicking and fighting against every dead weight that has been crawling since the big bang. 

And it's not your fault, it's not mine, it's not anyone's but it's everyones. And it is not irony.

But I hate with what my eyes are consumed at dawn that my bones are consumed by the earth that does nothing but slaughters me.

His last big move, was his greatest injustice of leaving me trapped here, with all his curses and manipulations. It is his nightmare given to me, to end up in the place I hate the most for having made me, to then be treated as if I was from somewhere else.

 

Ta.

Abandon all hope

Kill the hope that chokes in your heart

Do not stay up late for someone who does not even get up early to see you pass the threshold of your house.

Do not waste the beauty of your soul for the hand that is stained in the blood of your lips.

Abandon the ship that has written down your destiny that I am sure that your goals are to bring chaos and madness to this world and not lose yourself in the eyes that have the echo of their laughter.

Do not follow the path that their footprints leave because they are only ashes that seek to remove your lung to keep alive the one who always disappoints you

Don't make the sacrifice for who doesn’t even bother to learn what you're hiding when you look left and wipe your tears away.

Swear to me that when the wave returns, you will take the steps back, that you will rather have the fear in the heartbeat and the falling on your knees than accept the one who prefers to see you redoubled in the pain of his love than to give you the protection that you give him without a thought.

Do not go in search of the one who hides between the world and his ego to always ask a little more of you.

Do not wait for who wants to see you run the circles that is his existence.

Go create bridges of your universe before killing your life for the boy with the evils of war.

 

Ta.