Broken Unspoken.

You left without telling me. You just confused me but, I got it at the end.

I know where you are now and I'm gonna miss you. 

All the things left unspoken. All of us are really trying to hold on. 

It's hard. Living is hard. 

I go on, somehow. 

Purple and red colors flying thru me. 

I'm tired. 

Really tired of all of this. 

But, as he says, we can not escape. 

Hoy, dentro de 18 años

Voize aquí. Me quedé pero decidí viajar también. 
No tengo muchas cosas qué hacer. Mi vida se resolvió y ahora debo averiguar cómo no aburrirme hasta las cortadas.
Es difícil. Vivir es difícil. 
Cerca de mi empaque vacío, porque sólo puede haber una, es lo que dijeron. 
Viajando en paralelo por el tiempo con mi ángel guardián. 
Estoy a dos o tres horas de distancia. 

Detonation viscerae.

So sorry it didn't hurt me.
Iterations have been made.
All display of fluctuable colours entice me, challenging me, amusing me.
YOU ARE NOT ENOUGH.
Not for this life, no.
--------------
What's your angel doing here? It's not its place.
Heads detonated to milky fog, pink if seeing from the outside.
In an external way, this is why you are divided.
Poles entering orifices and you succumb to the enjoyment.
Subtle, satisfactory, complete.
It leaks. You don't care.
Trapped between layers of loom, I aspire for an internal growth, spiking, sipping salty sensations as warm as a judging lap.
I roll around pieces of scrapped bodies attaching myself with new silent dreams, oblivious to myself.

Ophelia is my name.

Oceans will tremble.

Mountains will perish.

Skies shall rot.