i wrote:
Twenty-two-bullet-revolver
And while I ask myself for the 22nd time if the people I chose to spend my last living moments with even liked me, I realized it would take about an hour before I could fall asleep again.
i
i am scared I’ll stop caring
i am scared of being dead while dying;
of moving to the second floor of a semicolon
i
i keep feeling the cold metal of a gun barrel behind my head as I walk home
I can hear the clicking of the gun behind me—it’s a revolver, I said.
I agree to never look back but break the promise as fast as the bullet that will kill me if I turn
(my life [gun])
around
for the 22nd time
[and shoot].
Puddles
It’s the 22nd puddle I have stepped in today, even though I have been crestfallen all-day —mayday.
I see the clerk’s smile morph into a frown as soon as my breath alters the chaotic store’s atmosphere. ‘Maybe I am not welcomed here’ I think while reaching out for the 355ml bottle of anxiety that I keep dosing myself for some reason.
I exit the store looking downwards as if I was minding the gap between the train and the platform. I feel the worm-like human-eater leaving behind me, as I realize that I missed my stop again.
Stop time to keep my purpose
if I hold you I’ll save my corpus.
Keep running until we reach c,
Freezing a wave in the middle of the sea.
Perfect timing isn’t needed,
only resistance to be exceeded.
Watches stop on the wrists of watchers,
Stars flowing like vectored waters.
The hallway of light just like diamond baguettes
Leads us to the time of a new bouquet.
Sitting with paper behind the same old desk,
Your heart still paces my broken Piaget.
DROWNING IN FIRE, YOUR WORDS: UNSPOKEN
THE SPARK OF MY LIFE BY THE SUN IS STOLEN
MAYBE IT IS TIME, ARE WE FORGOTTEN?
IS IT MY SOUL, AM I ROTTEN?
DREAMING AWAKE, VIGIL UNBEATEN
I’M AIR IN MY BODY, MY LIGHT IS WEAKENED
THE BONFIRE STARTS, IS THIS THE LAST MOMENT?
MY BONES DISAPPEAR, MY HEAD WILL GET CHOSEN
AND WHEN THE MOON ARRIVES, AND MY HEART GETS MOLTEN
BURRY ME WITH MY EYES OPEN
The train doors open and we jumped out as if that was the last time they would
We ran up the stairs in the middle of the night, in the middle of the city, in the middle of the universe
Coming up from the concrete caves into the almost solid air, we started running, with happiness-driven feet and rainbow-colored eyes, following our emotion map, guiding us through the city we created with every step
We hit an invisible wall of rationality, stopping us from escaping reality
We looked at each other, while our brains rearranged themselves behind our red noses.
You were me, I was you.
The map was upside down, we flew over our footsteps, leaving the barrier behind,
The cold is gone, we are now one mind
We arrived to our secret, an igloo in space
Everything is mirrors, but I see your face
I meet you in the middle, the core of the light
The sun is shining in the middle of the night
From our feet to our head, we ignite
I want you to know
I want you to know
I want you to know
A bumpy road, a change of tide or a little bit of turbulence
will never change my feelings towards you: permanence.
Maybe I’m wrong, maybe we’re wrong, maybe I’m wrong,
On repeat, on repeat, on repeat; our song.
I want you to know
I want you to know
I want you to know
You are my galaxy, heart, world
I will keep my word
cut myself with the crime sword
kill myself with the time sword
I want you to know
I want you to
I want you
I keep a picture of you in my phone case
For when I’m lost in the maze
I hold it tight in my hand when I feel I’m falling
It makes me remember those days
When I would rehearse for your calling
And we would say ‘always’
When my life was a mess
In this world of unnecessary stress
Smoking mint hookah
Running drunk around the city
Hearing music full volume
Singing at the top of our voices
Stopping to drink plain vodka
Dancing with no shame
The sun just rose
Stop halfway to kiss you
I love, you?
Standing with you, in the eye of the storm;
Only here is where everything is calm.
Flying chaos surrounding our circle;
Infinite power, spinning in cycle.
Approaching the sunset, i feel you in my veins.
Lovingly, like a hurricane.
At the time of twilight, in the fall of the night,
Bright stars mirror as supernovas in your eyes
Under our space, with the appearing moonlight,
Discrete galaxies, spectating like spies.
Clever, like a hurricane.
Lastingly turning like the tic on your foot,
Exploring the oceans, creating our route.
Over the seas is where we’ll find our pieces
Nations and cultures between our kisses.
Genuine, like a hurricane.
Angel hands that no one deserves,
up in heaven, where she observes;
a boy in red, behind a wall of nerves,
trapped in that room, is where he preserves.
Rock after rock, she tears down that wall,
scratches and cuts, in her hands as a whole.
Just as the wounds he had in his hands,
for writing poems only he understands.
Their blood met, and their heart stopped,
they caught a feeling that just can’t be blocked.
The boy rushes to unlock his love reserves,
just for those angel hands, that no one deserves.
And I met this woman that would grab the bull by the horns, the rose by the thorns, and sail with the storms.
I met this woman that would open her scars to show me the stars, pierce her own heart to explain me the art–
that she did since the start
to pull me apart
and find a restart
so I could impart
what was in my heart?
That’s the woman I met
A soul as a debt
In my head, a cassette
I will never forget.
Us, a vignette.
“Always” as alphabet.
Rose by the thorns.
Angel hands that no one deserves,
up in heaven, where she observes;
a boy in red, behind a wall of nerves,
trapped in that room, is where he preserves.
Rock after rock, she tears down that wall,
scratches and cuts, in her hands as a whole.
Just as the wounds he had in his hands,
for writing poems only he understands.
Their blood met, and their heart stopped,
they caught a feeling that just can’t be blocked.
The boy rushes to unlock his love reserves,
just for those angel hands, that no one deserves.
I’m at the peak of an invisible Everest.
Staring down at an empty Challenger Deep.
The fall looks infinite. It is.
I can’t breathe, I won’t breathe.
I am falling.
I look at me, staring down by the brink of the cliff.
I am falling. I see myself again. Take the leap.
I am falling. I am falling. I am falling.
Take the leap.
Jump.
Now.
I’m a the peak of an invisible Everest.
I see myself falling. You see me jumping.
Distance from atom to atom.
Lighter than light.
We meet in infinity.
Still falling.
Despiertas en Londres, parada enfrente de una pintura que es el doble de tu tamaño, con tu boleto del “Tate Museum” en una mano, y tu celular en la otra.
Le tomas una foto a esta pintura, pero no sabes por qué. ¿Qué tiene de diferente ésta pintura a todas las demás? Todas las pinturas de esta sala parecen accidentes, van desde derrames de color como si al artista no le importara el resultado, hasta una simple figura geométrica en un lienzo de 6 metros cuadrados. Pero justo ésta pintura te hizo sentir algo. Por alguna razón te gusta más que todas las demás, te transmite un sentimiento que no puedes describir. Sientes que la pintura fue hecha justo, y sólo para ti.
De pronto, eres la única en la sala. No hay otras pinturas, no hay otras personas. Sólo hay unas luces encendidas: las que te facilitan la visión de este cuadro que te llama como si tuviera voz.
Piensas que al artista te conoce. Conoce lo que te gusta, lo que te hace sentir bien, sabe que ibas a estar en este lugar, en este momento.
El arte no es sólo la pintura, el arte es justo este momento en el que estás; cuestionándote a ti misma: “¿por qué me gusta esto?”. El arte no es eso que está colgado en la pared frente a ti, el arte es el escenario en el que estás, cuando entraste a explorar la selva de tus pensamientos bajo el cielo de emociones, en el planeta que esta pintura te presentó.
El pintor inició esta obra, y tu trabajo es acabarla contigo misma; hacerla una obra maestra.
Éstas simples manchas generaron algo en ti que nunca habías sentido. Te sientes bien cada vez que las ves, no te aburres de ellas, y sabes bien que nunca lo harás. Son perfectamente imperfectas. Son algo, que no puedes explicar.
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