Here, I am,
alone in this thing called life;
crying out loud in the garden of death;
stuck in between the bruises of hellos and roses,
and burning in a mirage of prospects and contradictions.
I am tired of walking
on those letters I wrote for you;
drinking illness of questions in empty nights;
recycling my thoughts to prevent them from shriveling
and looking for me in the lyrics of the songs
in your head right now.
Now, I crave for freedom
from the room of this incurable sin;
from sleeping on the bed sheet of darkness;
from sharing my pillow with the devil and
from covering myself with the blanket of nightmares.
I have coded an ocean of emotions for you
in the seashells of infinity,
and if you ever find one of them,
blow it and you will hear
the voice of my stubborn heart asking you
the same awkward thing...
Could you please whisper
those three little drops of sweetness in my ears
and turn it into a dream?