Thoughts...
Language
By: Aldo José Puccini
Internal bleeding
spills lemons amongst your wounds
empowerment flows eternally between the crevices
sliced and diced, such a malleable heart
discombobulated, extracted so gently
so hollow and fragile
that butterflies can implode
the beauty of the language
is not beauty at all
our fires represent only mere shots
only mere representations of what is not exact
my fingers bleed for it
my stomach digests the insurmountable heights
incapable of reaching the pinnacle of emotion
fails miserably
destroyed and jaded, tarnished and faded
this language
these languages
they don't mean anything
they are frozen pieces of what can be and what should be
eroded corroded exploded within
lies here in the canyons, falls asleep in the crater
our galaxy is beyond this montage
our world lies ahead of the façade
we mean so much more than these facsimiles
or so we think…
By: Aldo José Puccini
Internal bleeding
spills lemons amongst your wounds
empowerment flows eternally between the crevices
sliced and diced, such a malleable heart
discombobulated, extracted so gently
so hollow and fragile
that butterflies can implode
the beauty of the language
is not beauty at all
our fires represent only mere shots
only mere representations of what is not exact
my fingers bleed for it
my stomach digests the insurmountable heights
incapable of reaching the pinnacle of emotion
fails miserably
destroyed and jaded, tarnished and faded
this language
these languages
they don't mean anything
they are frozen pieces of what can be and what should be
eroded corroded exploded within
lies here in the canyons, falls asleep in the crater
our galaxy is beyond this montage
our world lies ahead of the façade
we mean so much more than these facsimiles
or so we think…