Tired.
Tired of being tired.
Tired of keeping
My eyes open.
Tired of feeling.
Tired of being present.
Tired of pretending.
You and I, my friend,
We dance.
Our minds elsewhere,
We dance.
You and I, my friend,
We dance.
Our minds elsewhere,
We dance.
When the cobblestones
Become a dance floor,
When the starts
Turn into lights,
When out bodies form
And deform,
Attention
Captured by their
gaze. We communicate
Without words.
Around us, nothingness.
A racing heart,
Slow movements.
An implacable reality
Holds me back.
What is evident
cannot be.
She cries,
And that cry is me.
Everything finally
Makes sense.
Today, I realize,
It was for me.
I saw her
suffer.
She is in pain,
She is in pain,
And that pain Is me.
Each path is a door
To a new home.
If I stay at point A,
I loose access to point B.
Home is me, to escape
The pressure and the rush.
Home must be me.
Time runs, time is given,
Time is offered.
Surrounded by choices,
The paths are many.
This pressure, this urgency,
The need to flee, to run,
To not miss out.
A heavy head,
a light mind.
Fatigue and well-being
Walk beside me.
Lightning strikes
A heavy head,
a light mind.
Fatigue and well-being
Walk beside me.
Lightning strikes
Through my thoughts.
Bringing me
back to intense,
Confused excess.
Deep, invisible bonds, protecting and guiding us, drawing strength from mutual love.
It's a tacit pact of support.
There is me,
There is you.
There is me, then there is you again.
You categorize, organising
Based on my emotions.
A certain place for you,
A lot of space for you.
And supposedly,
A place for the Grand You.
A box of fireworks
that adorn us,
Meant to project
an image-
an Image is not always reflected when social codes don’t align.
The self-image projects
is thus distorted when other’s perceptions shift based on our differences.
each person sees you as
a different person
Striking figures.
One is a square,
Fractured.
The other one a triangle,
To proud to be one.
Together,
they trace
An obvious curve.
Inner battles.
Complex and buried,
Explaining the reason behind
A feeling
Can become
a headache.
Affirming our character traits,
One experience confirming another.
A lived knot
of history,
shaping our greatest
Tired of dancing.
Tired of not
forgetting.
Overwhelmed
By exhaustion.
The clouds are
approaching.
Time runs, time is given,
Time is offered.
Surrounded by choices,
The paths are many.
This pressure, this urgency,
The need to flee, to run,
To not miss out.
Each path is a door
To a new home.
If I stay at point A,
I loose access to point B.
Home is me, to escape
The pressure and the rush.
Home must be me.
Deep, invisible bonds, protecting and guiding us, drawing strength from mutual love.
It's a tacit pact of support.
There is me,
There is you.
There is me, then there is you again.
You categorize, organising
Based on my emotions.
A certain place for you,
A lot of space for you.
And supposedly,
A place for the Grand You.
A box of fireworks that adorn us,
Meant to project an image-an
Image is not always reflected when social codes don’t align.
The self-image projects
is thus distorted when other’s perceptions shift based on our differences.
each person sees you as
a different person
Affirming our character traits,
One experience confirming another.
A lived knot of history,
shaping our greatest
Inner battles.
Complex and buried,
Explaining the reason behind
A feeling
Can become a headache.
Attention
Captured by their
gaze. We communicate
Without words.
Around us, nothingness.
A racing heart,
Slow movements.
An implacable reality
Holds me back.
What is evident
cannot be.
I saw her
suffer.
She is in pain,
She is in pain,
And that pain
is me.
She cries,
And that cry is me.
Everything finally
Makes sense.
Today, I realize,
It was for me.
Striking figures.
One is a square,
Fractured.
The other one a triangle,
To proud to be one.
Together,
they trace
An obvious curve.
A heavy head,
a light mind.
Fatigue and well-being
Walk beside me.
Lightning strikes
Through my thoughts.
Bringing me
back to intense,
Confused excess.
Tired.
Tired of being tired.
Tired of keeping
My eyes open.
Tired of feeling.
Tired of being present.
Tired of pretending.
Tired of dancing.
Tired of not
forgetting.
Overwhelmed
By exhaustion.
The clouds are
approaching.
When the cobblestones
Become a dance floor,
When the starts
Turn into lights,
When out bodies form
And deform-
You and I, my friend,
We dance.
Our minds elsewhere,
We dance.
Inner battles.
Complex and buried,
Explaining the reason behind
A feeling
Can become a headache.
Affirming our character traits,
One experience confirming another.
A lived knot of history,
shaping our greatest
Time runs, time is given,
Time is offered.
Surrounded by choices,
The paths are many.
This pressure, this urgency,
The need to flee, to run,
To not miss out.
Each path is a door
To a new home.
If I stay at point A,
I loose access to point B.
Home is me, to escape
The pressure and the rush.
Home must be me.
Deep, invisible bonds, protecting and guiding us, drawing strength from mutual love.
It's a tacit pact of support.
There is me,
There is you.
There is me, then there is you again.
You categorize, organising
Based on my emotions.
A certain place for you,
A lot of space for you.
And supposedly,
A place for the Grand You.
A box of fireworks that adorn us,
Meant to project an image-an
Image is not always reflected when social codes don’t align.
The self-image projects
is thus distorted when other’s perceptions shift based on our differences.
each person sees you as
a different person
Attention
Captured by their
gaze. We communicate
Without words.
Around us, nothingness.
A racing heart,
Slow movements.
An implacable reality
Holds me back.
What is evident
cannot be.
I saw her
suffer.
She is in pain,
She is in pain,
And that pain
is me.
She cries,
And that cry is me.
Everything finally
Makes sense.
Today, I realize,
It was for me.
Striking figures.
One is a square,
Fractured.
The other one a triangle,
To proud to be one.
Together,
they trace
An obvious curve.
A heavy head,
a light mind.
Fatigue and well-being
Walk beside me.
Lightning strikes
Through my thoughts.
Bringing me
back to intense,
Confused excess.
Tired.
Tired of being tired.
Tired of keeping
My eyes open.
Tired of feeling.
Tired of being present.
Tired of pretending.
Tired of dancing.
Tired of not
forgetting.
Overwhelmed
By exhaustion.
The clouds are
approaching.
When the cobblestones
Become a dance floor,
When the starts
Turn into lights,
When out bodies form
And deform-
You and I, my friend,
We dance.
Our minds elsewhere,
We dance.