The gruesome truth

Is that as you grow

its closer to impossible to cut your veins 

With responsibilities that are stones

You don't have the time or the space to flee into five seconds of silence.

The sadness is that you are playing against your years

To be able to free you from all these sins

But your skin keeps touching other hearts

Your breath keeps remembering other palpitations

it becomes madness to even consider practising a knot

Now everything has an echo in memory that leaves you with bleach in any chance to get rid of this misfortune

But the shit of life is not having done it when you began

When weights were the pains of children who did not know better

When you were just another name among so many strangers

And you had no one to keep pretending for

And it is that the curse of existing is not having pulled the trigger before another fuking year was celebrated

Ta.