These arms of mine

Goodbye blue sky
I’m going far tonight,
For I have tried
And I’m far too tired.
Human relationships are hard
I never know how to react,
How could I if I live in disguise ?
Since the beginning of my time
I am not capable of knowing the how,
I can certainty decrypt the why
But never tell what’s behind the mask.
It’s not that I don’t want to speak
Is that I’ve always been so lonely,
That my words seem lost
Beneath the surging flow
Of my mysterious soul.
I am not made for people
And now I should leave you
So we could be free
And finally live.
For I’ve never done anything
That could hurt something
You cared about fondly.
But you’re good now
Kissing another man,
Breathing me out
And that’s all I care about
Since my love is always mad
And your happiness I want so bad,
Even more than what I planned.
You don’t know how much
You meant to my heart,
You melted like ice
Just never asked
What was in my mind.
So goodbye blue sky,
Goodbye love of mine
I’m leaving before I die
So you can lead a good life
Away from these arms of mine.

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Lost at sea 

‘Winter, 2010’

I don’t know what the hell 

Women want from men, 

You could fuck her brains out 

Then leave her to grown up 

And she wouldn’t be satisfied. 

You could give her your heart 

Love her like only a broken can 

And she wouldn’t be satisfied. 

I may be such a psychopath 

Writing this verses so sad, 

That even dead Christmas trees 

Wouldn’t cry as much as for thee. 

I may not feel anything 

I’ve never wanted a thing, 

I may give you my entirety 

My crashed soul and my poetry 

But you’ll never know me

Although what I may give. 

Cause there’s a great emptiness 

That lives in the surface of every cell 

That composes my decomposed being, 

And I really never learnt 

How to deal with this paint 

I keep swallowing for my need 

Of writing about this pain 

That never leaves my hand. 

You probably love my eyes 

Cause they’re blue like the sky, 

But you know nothing about the darkness 

That keeps emerging from them. 

I am like a abandoned little lost ship 

Drowning even knowing how to swim

Begging life for just a recess 

Lighting new cigarettes,

It sure was a beautiful fight 

But it’s time for this cold heart. 

A hundred and three women

​Someone once told me 

That he had sex with a hundred women, 

A hundred and three 

To be completely honest. 

Between beers and white sock whisky

I asked faithfully, 

‘did you love any of them? ‘

‘ I don’t even remember their names 

They were all one-night stands 

Setting up wasn’t even a chance’

And straight up 

he drank all his wine. 

As I ordered another 

For the little man sitting 

Right besides me, 

I asked myself the same question;

All those late-night two-weeks long parties 

Those crazy partners 

Those sick nights of sex 

Love, poetry and whiskies 

Were they worth it? 

Was I better? 

Did I love any of them? 

I do think I loved every single women I touched 

Even if sex never happened 

Even if it was all pure humanism, 

But was I bad for not reaching for more? 

Or that was the deal

In a bottle of whisky sealed? 

Truth is, I love every single woman 

They all have poetry inside 

And poetry calls me down every time. 

So, I ordered again 

And here we became friends 

As the clock gave five 

And time, as women, had us tied up. 

Writer survival

Sitting drunk
Trying to write
Cigarette in the left hand
Whisky dripped all around
Trying to write
Trying
To
Survive.
The beer flows
And i’m broke
The women
Seem to run from me
As they get closer to me
The drunken street-walkers
Seem nicer.
I go from party
To party
Every night
we smoke
Our brains out
We drink ourselves
Into coma
And every night
There’s this girl,
It’s always a different girl
Outwardly at least
But every night
At every party
The same thing arrives.
Sometimes we talk
Around a smoke
Or many drinks for me
Sometimes not that much
It always ends the same
And no-one seems to care.
I don’t know how
I am supposed to act
But everything comes back
To the first woman
That loved you once
And then everything decay
To the point of misery
And all these
Party-women
Make the words flow
And my soul go on
A little more.
So, should I let
This party end?
I’ll sour a drink
And write with this ink
Not a masterpiece maybe
But something at least finished.

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