«
out in a tundra-like moor only because i cannot bear the stench coming from the gloomy brook by my door i don't need no one – i'm fine on my own
i'm sacrificing the malnourished goat that bleats wanly by the corpse of its mother it's been rotting for weeks and it's tainted the water i don't need no one – i'm fine on my own
«4|4|20
I am the ocean. you float in the shallows and say you love my salty tears, you love my waves. You are aware that there are monsters deep within me, but you make no attempt to try and find them. I kiss you like I kiss the shoreline, pulling away but always rushing back. You ignore the fact that I swallow the light every night, and I am controlled by the ever-changing moon. You do not know everything about me, but maybe that’s for the best. Knowledge would suck you into the inky depths of my madness and cause you to drown. I do not blame you for this one bit. Don't blame me. Don't blame my naked soul.
«31|12|19
parada sobre pies cruzados parada pero pies atados si giro miro atrás pero atrás mis papás de espaldas camino pero al menos hay camino al menos me alejo pero aún no tan lejos
«1|4|19
riddle
we're charmed little quadruplets dancing round a post bathing in the sun, and found in favourite books we're a rare sight, searched for coast to coast yet clad in envious green, don't be tricked by our looks one is loving, one faithful, one lucky, one hopeful.
(ɹǝʌolɔ)
«1|4|19
day, bye, day · JK
monday ends slumber tears feeble asunder thus commencing labour those sleepy street wanderers
tuesday's the neighbour now this one i savour cité takes you by storm wholly hectic-flavoured
yet now wednesday forms a return to the norm an ever-drawling day jove, pray, will this week gone
approaching thursdày longing for that outré naught quickens one a-bed one is nearly purèe
friday so lovèd freedom so coveted monday, more toil unfair anon revel granted
with weekend despair a rumbunctious affair great plans without number all and nothing to faire!
«1|4|19
si no se corre el telón la obra no se puede ver si no se corre el telón el artista no juega su papel y el escenario se te dio y sólo te para el telón y si no lo corrés te lo perdés pero si sí lo corrés ahí te ves y te esperás y te llevás y te encontrás en tu voz y ya no son dos voz y vos y ya no son dos vos y voz
«1|4|19
She Walks in Beauty · Byron
ella camina, hermosa como la noche sin nubes, con estrellas a derroche y la penumbra y la luz se hallan elevadas en sus ojos, su talla domadas bajo su dulce alumbrar negado del cielo al día vulgar
una sombra o ausencia de sol daña esa gracia innombrable que ilumina su dulce arrebol o baila en su cabello trenzable ¡pura, amada mente bajo su melena! donde ella se expresa dulce y serena
sobre su mejilla y frente tan tranquila pero elocuente su sonrisa compradora y radiante habla de días de buen talante dentro de ella apacible su mente y un corazón de amor inocente
»10|10|17
i can scream with my lips closed i can shout with my mouth shut i can shriek without air i can cry help with my tongue still
i can sob without tears i can wail without sounds i can cry with my eyes dry i can feel your hand there
i can panic in a standstill i can loathe you in silence i can pray in pain and i can i can.
»4|10|17
otra vez me despierto justo ahora que el agua en mis ojos
otra vez el agua en mis ojos, justo ahora que me despierto