What if I write about sorrow?
About devastating letters full of hatred, pain and rancor…
What if I write about suicidal dreams?
About jump off and end it all because it’s painful to breath
What if my words are empty?
It’s all worthless and I drowned in my own shit…
What if I write about hurting others and hurting myself?
To toss salt on my bleeding wounds, to dig deeper on the hole in my heart?
What if I jump on the rails this morning?
I felt fear and I am alone. It’s only growing and it engulfs all in black.
What if I write about shame and lies?
I live full of lies. I’m lying myself every day when I wake up. I lie to others.
I lie to life with a cold fake smile…
What if I write about return everything to nothingness?
I don’t care anymore. It’s useless. The hell with everything...
What if I write about not knowing what I am doing?
I’m falling and I’m full of regrets since the beginning
What if I write about substances abuse?
About escape this place, this stupid existence, this insignificant life.
What if I write about death wishes to all those who think superior somehow?
I’m leaving behind this and never going back
What if I write about secret cuts?
About my disease and how ill I feeling now
What if I write about lock me in?
And never go out; never see the sun again…
What if I write about fearing to repeat the same vicious cycle again?
And I nothing more than excrement on a paper in an ocean full of shit
What if I write about not liking what I am right now?
About not being happy with the choices you made…
About devastating letters full of hatred, pain and rancor…
What if I write about suicidal dreams?
About jump off and end it all because it’s painful to breath
What if my words are empty?
It’s all worthless and I drowned in my own shit…
What if I write about hurting others and hurting myself?
To toss salt on my bleeding wounds, to dig deeper on the hole in my heart?
What if I jump on the rails this morning?
I felt fear and I am alone. It’s only growing and it engulfs all in black.
What if I write about shame and lies?
I live full of lies. I’m lying myself every day when I wake up. I lie to others.
I lie to life with a cold fake smile…
What if I write about return everything to nothingness?
I don’t care anymore. It’s useless. The hell with everything...
What if I write about not knowing what I am doing?
I’m falling and I’m full of regrets since the beginning
What if I write about substances abuse?
About escape this place, this stupid existence, this insignificant life.
What if I write about death wishes to all those who think superior somehow?
I’m leaving behind this and never going back
What if I write about secret cuts?
About my disease and how ill I feeling now
What if I write about lock me in?
And never go out; never see the sun again…
What if I write about fearing to repeat the same vicious cycle again?
And I nothing more than excrement on a paper in an ocean full of shit
What if I write about not liking what I am right now?
About not being happy with the choices you made…
What if I write about seeing my life behind the curtain?
Not being able to enjoy anything. Neither to love.
What if I write? What if I curse? What if I scream out loud? What if cry? What if I ask help? What if I´m too tired to keep going? What if I die now?
200th.
What if I write? What if I curse? What if I scream out loud? What if cry? What if I ask help? What if I´m too tired to keep going? What if I die now?
200th.
3 comments:
Se fosse outra pessoa que escrevesse eu diria "uau", mas como é meu irmão. . Sei não, não gostei. Aliás, não se trata de gostar ou não, me deixou meio triste, para não dizer "tristérrima", pois ai eu acho que nos dois ficariamos bem tristes. Bem, "mais" tristes, deveria dizer. Beijo, irmão. Se o que faltam são palavras de amor, se o que faltam são amores em palavras, ah, se o que falta fosse tão fácil de achar assim. Vai ver não falta nada, vai ver é psicose dos seres humanos essa mania de achar que falta alguma coisa em nossas vidas. Acho que a vida por si só já se completa tão bem, e essa deveria ser nossa maior alegria. Deveria...
Além de quaisquer escolhas, vontades, etc...
Mas como diz o meu último post:
"(...)E até posso querer que outros enxerguem, mas não dá e não quero entrar em grandes detalhes about isso. Não agora.
E acho que as pessoas ficam chateadas com isso.
E acho que as pessoas pensam que eu sou idiota.
E acho que as pessoas pensam que estou zombando da cara delas.
E acho... Acho tantas coisas que parece que estou certa.
Acho que odiamos aquilo que não compreendemos.
Acho que pensamos "Mas como é que pode? Aff".
Eis que surge o Hotel do amor. No meu imaginário. Imaginário absurdo, presente e abstinente. Mas então, vamos entrar?"
Despues de todo, Andarilho,las preguntas existen, ese es nuestro derecho y nuestra responsabilidad , nuestro motor y nuestro destino.
La vena existencial te cubre y te pinta los laberintos mentales y afectivos, qué resultará de ello?
Solo no te olvides que la madeja siempre tiene 2 puntas o millares.
Que la noche y el dia coexisten sin angustias y que todo avanza, simplemente,hasta llegar, dónde debe llegar.
Que algunas cosas dependen de cada uno(a) y otras, de este gran racimo humano.
...Y el misterio tambien participa.
Abraços!
What the... ¿fuck?
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