miércoles, 19 de marzo de 2014

In my room.

                 Mama doesn't know
                 what happens in my room.
                 That I fell in love,
                 that I fell apart.
                 She will never know
                 about those nights
                 I was awake 
                 past midnight.
                 She will never know
                 about those tinghs
                 I have written
                 when the world was too much.
                 Mama musn't know
                 about my sadness
                 and therefore
                 about my happiness.
                 Because she won't uderstand
                 that touching isn't needed
                 for love, for faith, for pain.

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