Desde mi tumba

De vuelta en el lodo

rápido me hundo
primero mis pies
luego mis ojos
y toco lo más profundo.

Se me hace difícil
distinguir el como,
cuando, donde
y sobretodo la cara
que me obligó
a permanecer encerrada.

Las lentas horas pasan
y se transforman en largos años,
y aquí sigo
enterrada, raptada
y sobretodo violada.

Y quiero gritar
pedir ayuda una vez más
pero
¿y si nadie me escucha?
¿y si resulta que el mundo
está demasiado ocupado
mirando para otro lado?

A veces veo voces
y oigo luces por fuera
de este oscuro ataúd
que prometen rescatarme
de entre el barro
y la mala hierba
y me invade la culpa
el pensar que al callarme,
y preferir conformarme
con mi linda cajita
estoy colaborando
a que él siga moldeando
nuevos cadáveres andantes. 

Sui Caedere

I did it

I was planning it

long time ago,

and finally did it

I cutted my veins

slowly and carefuly,

multiple times

while crying and begging

for God to stop my life.

Desperation maybe,

things already lived,

and the thought that

even worst things

are going to happen

to me...

Looking for redemption,

I let the blood flow

I stained the sheets

and felt asleep

after taken lot of pills

Neither the blood,

nor the pills,

nor even Death

took my life.

I woke up

next morning,

birds singing

sun shining

wounds hurting

and head aching

the phone rang

and I picked it up.

It was my mom,

- told me she had

a terrible nightmare

and stayed all night

awaken,

praying for her

only daughter

to be saved

I wont forget

my mom's cries

when she accidentaly

discovered the blood

and the marks.

There are,

there still are,

things to fight for,

new ilusions to find,

new quests to follow

and people that wait

your return home.

We live in a place

sometimes called earth

sometimes called hell

but at least

we know it well.

I dont care who saved me

or where does he or she come from

but thank you

for this second chance.

Picture: Requiem por un suicidio by Carlos Entefí

Gracias

Healing time

It is the awkward tic tac

of the snoring clock,

that marks the nights

you've been alone.

It is the patronizing

tic tac of the clock

that forces your life

in a rude mode.

It's the tic tac song

that wakes you up

and curls up your dreams

the same lulaby

that cures broken hearts

Its now not the same clock

or not the same tic tac 

of an awkward clock,

but a healing sound

that always walks forward,

without looking back.

Picture: unknown

I wonder

 What would you do

if I tell them,

to all of them,

if I tell them,

all those sacred secrets

you want to remain

abolished,

far out of the way

of those amateurish frogs?

what would you do then

If I send

If I sell

your reputation

and let it flow

and go and fall

in procastinated tongues?

To hear every-silent-word

now croaned and croaked

in the highest voice

telling the truth about you

your mischievous mind

and your stone heart?

How would you feel then

if you wake up

and you find out

that every-lie-carefully-built

is now gone

and destroyed

into pieces

of rough materials,

shelled by

the best missile?

How it would be

to see you paying

as much as I paid

alone

for all OUR mistakes

as much as you deserve

my sweetest revenge?

Painting: The Triumph of Justice by Hans Von Aachen

Twisted Scream

Sick and tired of love

and hate and sex

and love and hate and sex.

And all the things around

and all the things which round

and round and round

around everything which means

nothing meaningful to oneself

when one is lost

and lost looking for a muse

that sleeps and dreams

about the perfect love

that loves sex and hate

when hate and love and sex

and love and sex and hate

become then no opposites

but different ways

to the same dreary place.

 

Picture: Scream by Vakhtang Kakulia

An advice for pre-lesbian chicks

I don't know what was

whether her perfume's touch

or her long hair's smell

the spell I was trapped by --

titanical ocean waves

of pleasure disguised

in a new way

that claims

to be secret

to remain

in the most unusual place.

Hidden by the sheets

I woke up

of the sweetest dream

I ever had.

We brushed our hair,

make-up our face

and went out

back to world

as simple friends.

No kisses aloud ,

Neither hugs nor

hanging around

hand on hand.

Satisfy yourself

with invisible glances

But don't think

that she is going

to call you back,

to worry about you,

to care about your life,

your health, your mind.

There is no place

for comprehension my dears;

we are as bad

as they are.

Picture: El columpio-Raymond Monvoisin