Don't

It's strange,




but I don't wanna be me. ( I shouldn't be saying this...)

I'm writing in (poor) English, I'm listening to some musics that aren't mine.
I can't recognize my eyes and the way they look around.
I'm thinking about things that aren't important,
I'm not even trying to finish that book.

I'm not paying attention to my own advices,
I'm not at the same place where my tears are.
And I don't care, after all...


What's going on?

Who is this girl that loves to talk about things that she can't have?
And as a matter of fact, she doesn't know the names of her own feelings...
Who is this girl that I'm trying to understand?

I'm surprised at myself...

It's strange,


but I don't wanna listen to me.
My excuses,
my reasons to cry or to
keep going
with this lie,
with this impossible way of life,
with this obssession about everything.


My little and disgusting world of nothing is falling
And I'm not doing anything.


I'm ashamed,
That's all.

"O que eu queria, o que eu fazia, o que mais?
e alguma coisa a gente tem que amar
mas o que não sei mais

Os dias que eu me vejo só
são dias que eu me encontro mais
e mesmo assim eu sei também
existe alguém pra me libertar" - Los Hermanos