that i want to shed.
that can fall out of me.
This is a life i did want, yet i didnt see it,
This is a life i tried so hard to keep fighting for.
At what cost I bare, at what value i care most.
Then you. . .
i care not anymore.
Dont expect me running and chasing after.
So that shoe never showed here by my door.
Damn it, the insole never got cushioned by my gel.
Seems to me, this memory foam won’t cut it.
Mi vida en loco is nothing compared to anyone,
Mi vida en mi cabeza has nothing on you.
Rather lets go to the post office and let that sorter,
put in graveyard shift, so you know when and where
did the first miserable tears appeared out of.
And when that cloud came to you,
in your lovely life, did it cry?
in your sweet bitterness, were you dry?
in your melancholic way, did any amount of tears kept you to ask “why?”.
It is nothing but physiological means,
Dont and never give in to denial of your brain,
Then use this brand of shoe,
Don’t jog and chew it off by a brisk walk;
coz jogging that old memory does nothing,
but to keep your place.
each time i talk to you.
Knowingly you cannot even talk anything about your shit.
This head ache is gone yes,
but my life in a pinch is a stress,
that never ends,
where it leaves, my moutg follows.
A mass of gas,
circling, around my head,
never a square nor a cubed,
to put this sphere within.