Tell me lies, tell me sweet little lies

Bent on raw, bloody knees
let me confess to all the truth
of my instinctive deceptions
multiplying with every breath
 
Forgive me my trespass each moment
of lying to the truths of my soul
Placating myself with anesthetics
smothering, deadening, silencing
 
Hush, sweet soul mine, it’s not yet time
to show the world our constant penitence
No one cares to see our unhealed wounds
so we pretend we weep for joy and smile
 
One day, we will be free to beg the angels
to take us away, eternal soul forever free
Until that day, I remain prostate, praying
and by some miracle keeping me alive

 
I used to subscribe to these mutual fund journals
And then read every one of them from cover to cover
I used to tell myself I wanted to be like those men
And multiply my money like I was the best lover

I wanted to invest with the best and makes so much
I read up on stocks, trades and everything in between
I took classes, read books on anything I could
To become like money managers on those magazines

I got gains, I took hits, I cut my teeth here and there
But I needed to finish my education and get a degree
And yet somehow I was walking in the eye of a hurricane
When years later I realized the mess and all the debris

I’d been part of those companies that did the world wrong
When the shit the hit fan only then did we understand
The desire to be filthy rich then kind of just went away
Like a house of cards or domino effect, I played a bad hand

It was only after I completed my education I understood
I’d been telling myself lies to win some dreamy prize
As the world fell into an economic downturn and burned
I felt some kind of guilt for wanting to rich like those guys

But what go me the most was, how badly a lot of people lied

38 circles around the sun…
But the age in me feels older than the sun itself.
Its shine cannot illuminate the darkness of my soul.
The depth of my pain goes deeper than my most suppressed feelings.
My emotional body seems hollower than the emptiness of space.
Fragments of mine abuse every effort of my essence self to survive and thrive, they smile devilishly and satisfied with my inability to take control.
They want me dead. For death is the only way to accept this futility of not being born in another body, of not having another kind of life, another family, another character, another ego.
Wisdom is useless during the storm of self-abuse versus the self-pity show inside my head.
A fog of doubt covers everything I think I knew.
I don’t have a clue of who I am or who are those inner voices that plan in detail my suicidal scene. The bridge nearby appears to be a great scenario, if I could calculate the distance and the time needed to reach the asphalt, jumping in front of a speeding truck on the highway beneath it could smash my entrails in seconds.
The obnoxious creativity though goes even beyond, putting me on the cold bathroom floor with a razor in my hand. Its sharp edge touches my hard skin, trying to reach the radial artery. All the remaining energy, amplified by despair is needed to make a forceful stroke with my right hand. And vu àla! A peaceful ruby colored wave of thick blood spreads outwards, approaching the old wooden door and escaping under its crack. My eyes stare into nothingness, my palms are sweaty and open facing the ceiling, and red splashes of my bloodstream decorate aesthetically my sloppily tied up sneakers. What a Renaissance of beauty of the objective reality.
I’m shocked, dehydrated, and tired. As soon as the horror movie ends, I mentally applause my abusive aspect. She fucking rocked it this time, she gave it all. Every little trick that she knew it would hurt me. She unburied every negative experience and used every line in her dynamic book of shadows. “Worthless”, “unloved”, “useless”, and so on.
I could do nothing but let her say what she wants to say. I heard everything, embodying both the victimizer, the victim, and the weird observer.
Her twin is the weak one. She cries and cries, accepting the punches on her face and weeping over our smashed head, our death bed, our hospitalization. I’ll deal with her in another episode.
Wishes for a great day.
Thank you for watching.

 THE SMELL OF COFFEE EACH MORNING AWAKES ME.
 
 SLIENT COLD  WOODEN HOUSE,  
 
 LEAVES BLOWING AGAINST THE WINDOW.
 
ANOTHER DAY TO BE HAPPY
 
SMILIES AND LAUGHTER MAY BE ALL A FRONT.
 
WHO AM I TO SAY.
 
BLESSED  IS QUESTIONABLE
 
CURSED MAYBE SO
 
WHO AM I TO SAY
 
COLD HEART  
 
DREADING FOR DAYS
 
Who AM I TO SAY
 
unhappy,