The ripping of the soul
in yet another piece,
I’m sure Tom wouldn’t mind,
but I can’t stand
to…
So I have to ‘go dark‘,
and hide the parts everywhere,
recur to the secrecy ‘arcane‘,
the undecipherable code
of the self.
Of course I was mad
(I am)
contra mí,
nadie más.
Pero esa no es la palabra:
it was more like ‘dark‘.
(Yo no planeé
nada de esto).
I put a hoodie on,
black,
the headphones
a todo.
And I walked
al sonido de la determinación
en mi cabeza,
sintiendo que soy
ella,
a black-eyed
Helena,
a greedy
Sinatra,
a deadly
Magdalena,
y a la vez no.
I promise
I just feel
lucky,
and frágil,
affectionate
to the core.
Honestly,
I don’t know how to do this
if not with love.
(So, kill me, Sarah,
«it’s gonna be a glorious day».)