Wounds

Somebody tell me
why my mouth,
which is so full of wounds
from my teeth
that constantly graze the insides of my cheeks,
hurts so much more less
than my soul does.

Get it off

It would be best
she said
if you could get it off your mind.

Get it off my mind.
Do I look stupid?
Do you think I don't know?
Do you think
I
do not want to?
But how
does one take it off?
Is it a puzzle piece
we just remove
is it a tumor
that we cut
is it flesh
that rip apart?
How do I get it off my mind?
Maybe
there's something wrong
with my mind.
Everything that enters it
remains locked there
and turns it into
dust.

Valentine's day

You see
today was Valentine's day
and the irony is
exactly a month ago
I had done the last
attempt
to talk with him.
And all I could think
today
was how this was
an anniversary
of final silence
and how he probably
made love to her tonight.
It made me
want to
bite off
my thoughts
my heart
the part of my soul
that still cares.

I hope he at least
fucked the one
he wants the most today
otherwise,
bummer for both of us.
One of us
ought to be
in love and content.

Let it be him.

Quiet

I sat in my chair
shivering.
There are some times
when I really trick myself
into believing
that if
just if
I can freeze myself enough
the numb part might not hurt.
It's all so quiet.
Like I'm not even there.

I went out with someone today.
I had high hopes
I might wanna fuck them.
But I did not.
I don't think
I was made
for this love game
or anyway
I'm not ready to play.

Please don't let me fall in love.


(Maybe that's why
I fell in love with you.
Because it was doomed from start
I didn't risk getting
what I wished for).

She asked me

"Have you thought
of what it will be like
next time you see him?
You might have a chance then."

    The question echoed inside me, it rippled through my ribcage. Had I thought, she asked. Of course I had. Of course I do. The possibilities sometimes make me tremble in the dead hours of night. They're so endless that each night a new one will be there in the place of the previous one and sometimes it's agonizing and sometimes it feels like nothing at all.
    I try
    very hard
    not to concentrate on those posibilities.
    Even the good ones.

I said,
"Yes. I have. But I try not to.
Life can be such a dirty whore
and such a splendid witch
that of all the myriad scenarios
I might build in my head
she will present me
with the one that always slipped
by the edge of my mind.
I try to have no expectations
for I might never see him again."

    And the truth is, more than that, I know that should we ever get the chance, things will not be easy. He does not seem like an easy person. Hell, I know I'm not one. But then again, I don't expect someone who is so ready to admit he wants a woman to love him, that he wants tenderness, to be an easy person and maybe I don't want an easy person. What's the point of that? I don't want to be someone's comfortable choise, I want to be the breeze that soothes the harsness. If he wasn't so honest, so raw with emotions, would I have been so attracted?
    Would I have admitted the things I did admit?
    Would I have cried so much for missing him?
    Would I still worry the way I do?

I am so scared
of seeing him again
because there might be
nothing there
and we'll be perfect strangers
and I will wonder
even more
whether this was all in my head
and it will break my heart
because that will erase
even the fondest of memories.

    It was such things that I discussed with her yesterday night, over a glass of wine.

Talking

He talks to me
and I talk to him
and we talk
and talk
and the problem is
I just can't seem
to get over
this tiny little thing:

he's not
you.

My boyfriend's name is Daquiri

Or so I wrote.
You know
you didn't have to comment
that.
"Too sweet
for you."
Like what,
am I supposed
to prefer Negroni
your favourite one?
The one that leaves
the tongue
with the bitter taste
after a short-lived sweetness?
Well guess what
you fucker
I do love that one.
I'm annoyed
'cause I'm annoyed for no reason.
This should 'cause
no shiver of the bones,
no sped up heartbeat,
no short inhales of breath.
It means nothing
and it annoys me
that you don't know
it still affects me.


Sorry for the fucker part.

Away

Away
away
away.
I want to leave.

These days
I've taken to
biting the side of my finger
over and
over and
over.

The presence
of family and friends
makes me shiver.
I want
to run out
in the cold night
but I have
no possible destination
and
I'd only
end up
running back
into myself
anyways.