I'm sorry for the bad things that I say
But you can see the truth in my face
and perceive the bad habits that I embrace
Maybe I'm waiting for someone
to discover
the enigma of my poem
Maybe I'm waiting to break
my demons and dreams.
The dreams of glass.
Shatterade glass
that are so delicate
like I wanted to be
and sometimes
as much as I fear to don't be
Maybe I'm not here
Sometimes fighting to be
Sometimes the fear comes,
take my last breath and
soak my thoughts
Maybe I'm really trying
to don't keep covering all the fucking things
But I can't kill the panic in my mind
when there's nowhere to hide
All that I really know
Is that she is here
with more air now
so she can have
a better breath
She tells me things
whispering in my ears
"The glass!
Your new dream!"
And I answer
"Just another obsession"
She wants to break my will,
shut me up
And I tell you
Maybe I don't have strength enough
to say no
She has me
like a hawk
catches a little mouse
with his sharpened
and bloody
claws
But I'm here
I'm still here
Writing idiot
poems
With small words
and heavy thoughts
I'm asking me
Where's the poetry
In this madness
and stupid dreams
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