Dear 11 yr old me, Your are disappointed

Dear 11 yr old me,

Your are disappointed

I don’t know where ill end up But as long as I keep my eyes shut My wrists will remain uncut And I will continue to have luck Not for long until I remember the past Drowning in my thoughts that forever last Until I break free From an eternity Of pain and shame that lead me down a road that I cannot tame Without the medicine Without this pain I have learned that there will be no gain Hard work makes more enemies than friends So I continue to look through the lens Viewing my future and walking down the lane Alone With no-one left to blame But my own brain And the people who made me insane And so I forgive the little girl Who didn’t know how to live In a house made up of flames With a hundred of different names Left her looking in mirrors to only see tears In her hand she held the shears Waiting for the right moment to finally fly But she only now realized the only way to do it is to die And so she cried.

Hold me down

I left my window open
for three months
to fill my room with a smell
that isn't you

We got history

Grant me one hour on love's most sacred shores

To clasp the bosom that my soul adores,

Lie heart to heart and merge my soul with yours

Doki Doki Literature Club

A Joke

A man walked into a club..
In the club, there was a girl who liked him very much.
They spent some time together, and then she liked him even more.

One day, the girl realized she was in love with him.
Before disaster could happen, a third party intervened with her programming.

Suddenly, the girl hated herself for being in love.
Thiss contradiction caused t he script to derail.

The universe  s tarted to collapse, but she killed herself just in time.

Mario Benedetti - lluvia

La lluvia está cansada de llover
yo/cansado de verla en mi ventana
es como si lavara las promesas
y el goce de vivir y la esperanza

la lluvia que acribilla los silencios
es un telón sin tiempo y sin colores
y a tal punto oscurece los espacios
que puede confundirse con la noche

ojalá que el sagrado manantial
aburrido suspenda el manso riego
y gracias a la brisa nos sequemos
a la espera del próximo aguacero

lo extraño es que no sólo lllueve afuera
otra lluvia enigmática y sin agua
nos toma de sorpresa/y de sorpresa
llueve en el corazón/ llueve en el alma

Edgar Allan Poe

Desde el tiempo de mi infancia no he sido 
como otros eran, no he visto 
como otros veían, no pude traer 
mis pasiones de una simple primavera. 
De la misma fuente no he tomado 
mi pesar, no podría despertar 
mi corazón al júbilo con el mismo tono; 
Y todo lo que amé, lo amé Solo. 
Entonces -en mi infancia- en el alba 
de la vida más tempestuosa, se sacó 
de cada profundidad de lo bueno y lo malo 
el misterio que todavía me ata: 
Del torrente, o la fuente, 
Del risco rojo de la montaña, 
Del sol que giraba a mi alrededor 
en su otoño teñido de oro, 
Del rayo en el cielo 
cuando pasaba volando cerca de mí, 
Del trueno y la tormenta, 
Y la nube que tomó la forma 
(Cuando el resto del Cielo era azul) 
De un demonio ante mi vista.