The streets.

Untitled it's my heart,
and blank as this notepad
when I first opened it.

I listen to the sweet words of love,
tasting the eco silence of broken homes. 

No emptiness lives in me yet my streets are solitary.

I don't search for adventures yet 

the enigma of life hunts me. 

And whenever I doubt myself, 

I remember that I am stronger than before because after all those bombs,
I've become immune to love.

I live in an empty battle, 

walk my streets
stepping on dry blood.

I wonder if the sun
has ever wanted to enlight my world.

As I walk my familiar streets
I get the feeling of Robert Neville.
"Where's my sam?" 

I say and laugh.
-No human being would like to be next to
you. You're a monster remember that.-
is those silly thoughts 

that keep me cold. 

My hands numb and my eyes,
dark.

"I'd like to think I'm a pretty
monster at least" 

so I run my cold fingers 

through my hair
as if that would 

make a difference...

"Trust me. I will never hurt you"
words that still bounce in my head.

I leave my world for two seconds

and remember the hot weather, 

the petty kiss, given.
I rewind the last walk,

the last hug, as I

Loose Internal Energy Slowly.

I come back to my world 

and realize I've been walking 

in circles for the past
couple of hours.

It's getting colder, 

so I kiss the air goodbye. 

And start walking back

to my home. 

A pesar de la soledad, soy libre.

I tell myself.

La obra falsa

Ya paro aqui de llover,
ya no duele mi voz al beber.
Tomo dos copas y baja el telon,
de esta historia falsa de amor.
Veo actores como juegan mi papel, y me pregunto
si morire esta vez por culpa de un maldito error.

Tomo el riesgo por quinta vez, soy sincera
y torpe a la vez. Empieza la lluvia y la escucho caer,
al ritmo del sonido de mi corazon. Mis latidos van muriendo
al compas del amor.Queman mis entrañas por culpa del alcohol.
bendito Smirnoff!
 
Mi alma tiene la dicha de sentir, y aveces ser feliz.
Pero dentro de la historia, de la obra, o vida real, vivo muriendo,
acaso no soy real? Ya mis alas van desapareciendo, muero lento y
rapido a la vez. Baja el telon tan rapido como baja el alcohol.
Muero por quinta vez, en esta obra falsa de amor.

P. 75

There is nothing else but broken hearts,

in this solitary life of mines. Nothing

else still alive, in this battle field of life.

Blood running through empty streets.

Amazing to see, all this pain she has caused to me.

Amazed to see all the wounded hearts,

Surprising to know I'm not the only one,

she played. Is she happy to see all this pain, I wonder.

Is she able to sleep in peace, alone.

A cold blooded person with no mercy for love.

Your words were nothing, Still are nothing just, empty holes.