Don't wake us up when tomorrow arrives, we'd rather be dreamers

viernes, 15 de mayo de 2015

(I am dead, a corpse, and I keep walking, walking, walking, walking)

Where do we
find comfort
beneath a hopeless sky?

How fulfilling
will the warmth
of other hands be
when they are destined
to be tore apart?

The forecast
promises death,
and chipped bones
and tears
like sawdust

There is no need
for a strong wind
to feel everything
has been carried away

And solutions
are just theorical creations
because the truth is
there's not always a way out

I wish there was,
I wish I could look at you in the eyes
and say
"Things will pass (and you will stay)"
without those words tasting like bile