domingo, 7 de agosto de 2016

A bird who learned to sing

By the lake I see a clear view
Oh god don't tell me, is it true?
I was made to float not drown
I will not fall you down, down, down.
A glorious warrior,
Who remembers everything,
Marked on my skin.
It doesn't feel right to crash within
With a reality who is not me.
I am free, pain is the pointing view
So give me that sunshine a little more time,
I no longer believe in fairytales
Or all the little white flames.






sábado, 6 de agosto de 2016

Living in my head is as real as living inside it - outside it.
Still not sure about what is sure. But still sure of not being sure of really being sure.
- metaforas.