We don't want to get depressed

 these young bones no longer have any use

because there isn’t anything to promise

when they keep stealing

and blaming the "relaxed"

and I wonder: ” if they hit my sternum will they hear the echo of my emptiness?”

because from a night of anger I wake to a  day of desolation and now the definition is nothing

there is already a voice that lengthens the words and writes the messages that remain as unsend letters

and nobody says it but everyone is thinking about it

these are the mornings of the end

these are our last words

these are already dead hopes.

it is true that thinking about it is what kills us

and it is true that you no longer have energy for what does not exist

and I have no more ways to ask you to hold on

I have no more tricks to sell you

drug is water

        as 

alcohol is air

And all that could push this death is tic tacs

and we don't want

but we have no other.

Ta.