I write to feel, to become numb, to understand.
I write with the blood that I posess, with my lack of tears, with my bare soul.
I try not to bleed nor leak and that’s why I write.
To find my colors, to make peace with my inner demons, to get used to my own monsters.
I write to keep living, to stop trying to control the destiny, to the pain go away, to the heart to heal.
I find myself grasping inside my chest, begging to write every time I feel like the weight of the world throws a shadow on my senses.
I looked at the Sky and
Everything was utopia
And everything was lovely
And I stopped crying and
I never wrote again.
My soul still