I don't want to speak about her.
Her perfection.
Her splendid rhythm.
Her gorgeous eyes and her incredible features.
Let me stay torn between two unsatisfied
halves that will never reach heaven the right way .
The way you're proposed to anyway.

Let me quarantine myself in a spider web.
Where tangled enough, I can never face fate,
eye to eye.
Speak staring at its menacing face.
Because the two syllables of
her name would be promising.

Let the silence burry the serenade under the skulls that, match your
internal self .
But for now, I don't want to talk about it .
Shut your uneven matching tones.
Burn the stories and don't answer the phone.
Let me rock your cradle beside my bed,
as I sit here pretending to be your soul mate.
The blood reaches my cheeks, I can almost touch the sky.
And if you only took the chance, we can touch it together.
Float on this despicable gravity, and follow the horizon.
And after that, sink into a mellow bed stuffed with broken
glass and sharp knives and there sleep like babies and,
wait if we so happen to
wake up.

You're solid, and I can almost touch your face, and I am about to tell you,
shout at you and say I want to talk, speak about all the compressed and
pressurized love I have for you. And I can almost see you, as I came closer and
I can almost touch your face, as I finally gave up and left . There was never no
intent on saying anything . Because you wouldn't want to hear about it .
You wouldn't ever want to know.
But even if you did, I stole your opportunity .
To many times have I been disappointed.
I have to swallow it like cough medicine.


Let it down and sink just to be released and drank all over again .
Just let me keep your smile for a little.
There's always something so catching about a smile.
Almost seems made up but not on you, not anymore.
So do me a favor and don't
get me to talk about anything.
Because I told you, I don't want to talk about
it.