Words Unspoken

 

    What happens when a child is deprived of its innocence? When laughter and joy seem to be but a concept created for those to be lucky enough to experience them we, the ones whose shadow became one with our sense of self, can't feel anything other than hopelessness. To be one who is no one. To be lost while never had experienced a sense of belonging. The world of men was created for those who care not for others but for themselves.

    It is contradictory yet, somehow, romantic the way one can feel love for another while being absent of ever feeling love itself. It is like we are plants whom are stuck, in a cycle of eternal servitude, to those who only want or like us for the oxygen we grant. No one dares to try to understand the other. It sometimes feels has if we re unable to truly empathise for someone else. We want love and yet when faced with how love feels we get scared and push it away or run from it. 

    It is hilariously unfunny how people only care once you die. When hope leaves our body so does life. To struggle, to crawl and to hunger are all things that became part of me. No matter how much we try to stop the waves from clashing at the shores we never succeed. It is only when we can't do anything that we try to do something. Humanity, humans and society are abominations of nature. We were born from it but soon became the hunter prying on life as when a lion feasts on a carcase. 

                

    While looking at death, and it's implications, I can't stop thinking about how appealing to be touched by it in a way only I could dream. I know to die is not to dream. To die is to become one with the void. It is said if you stare long enough in to the abyss that the abyss stares back at you. I have been intentionally staring in to it for many years now but with no avail. Perhaps not even the void deems me worthy of its embrace.

                            

   

     

 

to sing, not with the voice,

a song sang from the soul,

to feel affection,

or, perhaps,

to seek a gentle touch.

a smile,

shy yet heartfelt,

causes my heart to fumble,

to skip a beat,

and,

is the reason my hope was rekindled.

to be someone,

someone like you,

a diamond in the rough,

unpolished,

yet... so beautiful and divine.

realistic,

a character I always dreamed about,

a tear, denied,

and a kiss that never was delivered.

change,

only if you want,

adapt,

not to survive,

adapt,

to be a better version of who you are.

you are not a sunray,

you are the sun itself,

and I am but one of many flowers,

whom are only able to flourish because...

well,

because of you

I drown,

in the polluted thoughts,

my brain generates.

To feel,

naturally unnatural.

To breathe in venom,

vile,

obscure

and

to need it,

in ways,

so unhealthy.

To die,

yet again,

is proof I am real.

I am real,

but...

no one sees,

or even tries to,

feel me.

I stand,

unconscious,

in a meticulously made conscience,

that knows nothing other than pain. 

heartbreak,

dry,

bitter and bare,

fields are yellow,

imminently devastated.

thunderstorm,

acid rain,

dirty and heavy tears.

the world, cruel,

broken road,

depressing song,

silent fate.

death, me, and her,

always arm in arm,

unconditionally connected,

disconsolate is the mind of those who think,

and those who think,

dream.

when dreaming,

I lose myself in the mist,

I find myself in the solitude,

where there is only a certain Henrique, and his shadow.

I fall into eternity,

I embrace the emptiness I carry.

I am not, nor will I ever be,

anything.

I am nothing.

I possess nothing.

desgosto,

seco, amargo e nú,

campos, amarelos,

iminentemente devastados.

trovoada,

chuva ácida,

lágrima sujas e pesadas.

mundo, cruel,

estrada esboracada,

coração, sem cura,

canção depressiva,

fado silêncioso.

a morte,

eu, e ela,

sempre de braço dado,

incondicionalmente ligados,

desconsolada é a mente de quem pensa,

e, quem pensa,

sonha.

ao sonhar,

perco-me na nebulina,

encontro-me na solidão,

onde existe somente um tal Henrique,

e

a sua sombra.

caio na eternidade,

abraço o vazio que carrego.

não sou,

nem serei,

alguma vez,

algo.

sou nada.

possuo nada.

sei que me vou perder,

amanhã,

como me perdi,

nesse mesmo dia que se repete, anualmente.

nesse dia,

não há bolo de aniversário.

nesse dia,

sou eu quem é partilhado e repartido.

não odeio fazer anos,

odeio a consequência de ser alguém,

que se preocupa, 

mais, com os outros,

do que com ele mesmo.

a solidão, vem, disfarçada,

amaldiçoada vida, 

esta que respiro,

vida que fez de mim eu mesmo.

se a verdade das coisas,

fizer das coisas, verdades insignificantes,

que significancia tenho eu,

que não sou nem verdadeiro,

que não possuo coisas,

que deixo que coisas me possuam,

que mascaro verdades com mentiras?

se encontrar importância em algo irrelevante,

talvez o importante seja o que não tem valor nem sentido.

I am growing,

in pain,

I am growing,

with the pain,

as if,

glued to it.

is it the pain or, perhaps, my shadow,

that imprisons me,

that shackles my soul,

that burns my dreams and hopes?

am I just one of many,

will I ever become someone?

someone other than me?

the absence of meaning,

the lack of emotion,

and,

a dried well.

people,

faces,

empty places.

the abyss engulfs my narrow but sharp view,

I am alone,

empty,

yet alive.

to live or to die,

to love or to hate.

I am stuck in a cycle,

a endless loop.

everyday I wake up,

in pain.

everyday I go to sleep, 

in pain.

if life is but a sting,

mangle whatever hopes reside in my core.

burn away the memories,

and... set me free.