She’s black with eight legs - a Maltec spider up to some mischief. She’s a high-tech arachnid, hanging from her cobweb thread. She is a depressive artist that exists to exit. In her box she blacks out her little soul. I miss you, little spider.
The sorrow of the night turns into a choir during the day. The ritual of indecisiveness I practiced is blown away by the rays of love shining from you. My world that was upside down is ...
I’m a simple person who prefers to remain silent. The only noise I want to hear is the long grass growing in the wind. I just want to be simply loved... but life has hurt me, and love h...
You didn’t seem to notice when I opened my heart to you. You only seem to have your door half open. Everything hangs on the word ‘maybe’. I’m afraid of starting over again. You didn’t s...
I fall to the ground, resigning from a horizontal life. My thoughts are freezing and my ego has withdrawn. I feel nothing. I resent that which keeps me from you. I confide that I am at ...
To the lives that watch over mine: I know I will have to leave you in time. To the lives who supported mine: I know I will have to leave you in time. Mortality is a snow covered and bl...
The roses seem so beautiful until you feel their thorns. You are the improbable silhouette unforeseen in this silence, that watches over an absence in my heart. Even though the sun has ...
What would life be if we did not experience love, or anything for that matter? This world would be pointless, and life would be meaningless. We would never experience the excitement fro...
Sweet - it is so sweet. Your body is sliding over my skin. I can feel your hot mouth blowing all over my words. It feels it could last forever. It is the first time I have shivered with...
He is sad and prepared. Nothing approaches. Around madmen, he cries out ‘Love could kill you’. He does not allow words of love to touch him. He looks into a mirror. His heart embraces t...
It is impossible to reduce my life to simple formulas. This is because of its infinite nuances. My life is like a letter written backwards, running through my head, waiting to be born. ...
Poor puppets pass me by like phantoms. They are so strange and pale. They sing a monotonous song that makes the night so cold. Each of them is tied to their heart. Do I wear a mask? If ...
My exterior framework imprisons my suspended life. I once had a dream of better things. I face a crowd of people, all of whom are unknown to me. In all of them I see you. This framework...
Some of us did not choose to be born. We feel deep down in ourselves this sadness that draws us away from the light. Suffering bears down upon us like a weight on our back. We sometimes...
I have this stubborn idea in my head: I want to spend my life in bed. My problem is this: We grow old too fast. Night is like an evil weed –you cut it out from one place and it sprouts ...
The night’s hands are gloved. Its image is unfinished, but there is not enough time. The moon is fading. Nights frail fingers are so cold, but as they move, they sculpt the dawn and the...