Anxiety and love

I'm turning my whispers to ashes
these tears are wetting my lashes
and all I can see are the flashes
when this demon sumons the darkness

 I want the ilussion of hapiness
But the smiles are consumed by my madness
And the hesitation takes over me
I don't want to feel what it makes me feel

 I want to fall in love forever
But the voices are saying I'll never
Be sure of their feelings for me
Because my own demons have been unleashed

 It is killing me over and over again
And all I can do is stay quiet
letting the nightmares make me their slave
Setting my brain on fire

Comentarios

Publicar un comentario

Entradas más populares de este blog

Always the lover, never once loved

Dark eyes opened again to see ashes From the fire that the night before they started With intoxicating seduction, wine, and loneliness To compensate for their withered soul's emptiness She took her dress and put it on again Without saying a word, the memory walked away What could lust say to a complete stranger? For forging feelings for the heart meant danger He was another number to mark the whore She was another empty bottle on his floor The fire only left ashes and nothing more No spark between would ignite it nevermore Empty as the bottle they shared that night The woman and the man carried on with life Brokenhearted but their bodies were alive As long as the wine and pleasure pumped inside Back in the bar they sat next to each other But they were strangers since they didn't bother To say hello and revive the memories of desire For nothing was worth keeping inside their mind "What does it matter to know his name?"...
Leer más

Dualidad

Soy un ser partido en dos De un lado muerta, del otro viva Por una parte desquiciada, por otra tranquila Soy una criatura dividida Que por sí sola se atormenta y se apacigua Desatando el caos, siendo pacífica Somos dos almas distintas Una que odia, otra que ama Mientras una sufre, la otra canta Rota pero no deshecha  Separada por la desdicha  De yo no ser una misma
Leer más

Por eso

Habías gritado cosas como astillas de madera. Eran cosas pequeñas, casi invisibles hasta que ejercías presión en la herida. Malditas astillas en mi corazón y mi mente. No me las pude sacar desde ese día, y vivieron allí hasta mi muerte.
Leer más