Áoc.

Life is short.
Ironic.
Life is based on trivial necessities that give deep satisfaction.
Life is trivial itself.
Love is not.

Love ties itself onto your insides.
It bleeds along with your body, it screams along with your mind.
It becomes you, it doesn´t have to be anything on its own.
It isn´t anything on its own.

I waited up all night.
I saved the thoughts I have not been able to verbalize.
Barely slept.
Barely ate.

I crawled in and out of my skin.
Tried to exchange it for others´.
Those who don´t fall in love quite as hard as I.
Those who define love.
Those who dare not fight for its pleasures.

I am torn apart.
Between myself and that of which I love.
Life, is gone, it´s going as we speak.
Love, has stayed... through and through.

And I.
Guilty.
Asleep only to avoid the weight of the hours.
Awake only to get away from the nightmares.