the blue skies won't fool me
the green grass can't use me
the far away mountains won't help me
and the cold river isn't freezing.

rumpelstilskin
has nothing on me

whilst he may be able to spin straw into gold,
i've been able to spin a web of deception
that has wrecked countless innocent souls

when have the weights on my shoulders
changed appearance, to humanoid forms
and why am i not able to pry them off
if they're only sinking me down
to spin me around

the issue is: i must live to write.
it's imperative, imagination only does so much;
so now i'm here, where no one lives.
i am stuck
in this place no one gets to die
of their own exclusive free will.
i struggle and feel worthless
'cause i must live to write
but i must write to live, at least one last time

solitude is like having a hole in your boat
no matter how much you repair it
the imprint of that stupid hole will be forever burnt onto your retinas;
forever stuck between giving up and chucking buckets of water over my shoulder,
i am
        meaningless.

sleepless nights and
she's sobbing,
she's missing,
   she's coming back
and i'm staring.
i'm waiting
for you or something
   that seems to be happening
   tomorrow
(is bringing
   the sun,
'cause it's rising
   the birds
'cause they're chirping
and you're whispering
   that you've missed me
this evening).

stop blaming your humane pain on a rose's thorns.
you knew you could get hurt so you should have been careful. forget your own overdone clichés... it's not the rose's fault, you were too blind at the time to see it or too busy shifting vision from side to side in an attempt to get someone's best angle, their angelic fake face.

i am left astounded
in your unexplained absence.
in the holes in my face
left by your own eyes when they fade.
no more opening up to people
and no more giving everything away,
no more knocking down walls for
those who wouldn't even open a door anyway.

hueles a madera;
a madera olvidada,
a madera podrida,
a madera vencida.

each freckle on her face reminds me of a different heartthrob;

the first him, i broke
the first her, i numbed
the other him, i begged to stay
the other her, i let go before it was too late


the familiar her, whom i am close to losing
the otherwordly him, who doesn't even know me
the exasperating her, whom i can't seem to fit into my own standards


finally, me.
each time
I cut
someone else
I also
engrave
them
onto
my
soul

i'm tired of sleeping
because my blankets can't fulfill any of
    my needs
but i'm tired when i wake
because i just can't seem to stop the ache
that lives permanently
    in my teeth

she wonders if she's worthy
to cross their poignant minds
an ice temple is burning
the trees are all yearning
for her savoury touch

if you fell in love with my words
you couldn't even love me
for i am full of abandonment
       for myself