Dying young

I have died a long time ago.
As the young boy whose body laid on the dirt,
face bloodied and no breath to register.
Understand, I've died too soon, I had to.
The metal shining with my identification
didn't attract me anymore.
When we trust and then we are left behind,
a big part within us dies.
I gave up on the world when the world gave me up.
I know you'll miss me, but you'll carry on.
I know I miss you and I'll always be alone.

The injustice

I'm not a joyful man,
not even when the sun is shining,
there is no biological trait in me
of being smiling on the outside
or even psychologically trying
to get me to smile on the inside.

The injustice of the righteous man,
I bare inside me like a hidden fate
and sooner or later everyone will know
I'm not their man to envy or hate.

I'd like to think that something of useful,
of good or seizable will come of this,
but I'm afraid I'm just fooling myself,
leading me to believe in the power of thoughts.

As the Universe unveiled, so did injustice,
for everything became relative and nothing granted.
There's a mixture of sadness and conformity,
just sleeping in the eyes of the men like me,
because we can't hide the secret
of never finding the shade under any tree.

Why the heck do you still show up, in my dreams?

Do we have unfinished business?
Does your mind still crosses my heart?
Or are you linked to mine in some way?
We could remain friends, but I have a problem: I can't trust you.
Is that a friendship worth giving a shot?
My confusion relays on not having much answers too.
I guess I'll keep on my individual rambling and carry on as I can.
That's not much and I can't really control my sub-conscience:
bloody lack of sleep every night, because I don't sleep, I dream.

I'm very tired, I've been like this for many years but didn't acknowledge.
The same thing happens with everything else that I don't acknowledge:
it all comes around in my mind at dawn while I should be sleeping;
dreams and nightmares where he doesn't appear anymore running towards me,
small, as when I last saw him, arms wide open,
but you instead, troubling me so much, leaving me with a strange feeling inside.

What are you to me? What do you really feel? Are you really able to be my friend
or is it just something you say out to the wind as so many words before?

I don't even know if I could use a friend right now...
and I haven't been this confused for a long time.
Yes, time, time will be the one to answer to it all.
And I'm betting it will be an empty answer too.
Maybe I'm just being unfair, maybe you've tried to make it right,
maybe just like in the dream you wrote me lots of letters unsent,
and maybe it's just what I wanted to believe,
that being like that there could actually be a redemption for us,
showing that our friendship existed and was worth saving.

When I left I had the feeling you were ready to carry on,
that I had given you the strength and support you needed to rise
and that without me near you could forget about your biggest errors
and start again; without having to face the Past all the time
I thought maybe you could forgive yourself and move on.
Of course I made it with so much sacrifice,
as I was used to, since the time of «love me without me, as I do you without you».

I was told by someone else that you were just fine, in a new life
and that you all didn't get my correspondence,
didn't even remember me at all
and that I should let you be and not contact you again
because I was making a fool of myself,
and that it was you who gave her my number to call,
that you knew she was going to tell me those things.
That was quite awful and disappointing to listen to,
(except to know you were fine and carrying it on)
it was the second time our relationship had been betrayed,
exposed to someone else who had nothing to do with it,
and that was what made me end it all.

Stillborn

Gently departs into the darkness,
the weary heart of the child
that doesn't get to see the madness
of the one's she is leaving behind.

There is no rage or despair,
no sorrow or fear,
any feeling to be compared
not even one shed tear.

The Universe is indifferent to everything,
it will still exist no matter what,
sometimes there can be something
but it's never enough to fill the slot.