The Diary of a Wounded Man

there are no pages left in your notebook
they’re all filled with words no one can read but you
people look and say they are songs
people look and say they are poems
you ironically laugh and replies as the diary of a wounded man

sometimes you read out loud what you wrote there
but if it is truth or not is a thing walls can’t share
people look and say it’s your secret code
people look and say it’s your hidden treasure
you ironically laugh ’cause we know there’s no audience

you keep it hidden under your bed with a padlock
and everything written there is wishing someone to look it for
no one ever came to ask the key
you’d handle it so easily
you ironically laugh and hide the key inside your pack of cigarrettes

there’s no space
even in the cover
to write down
a few words of sorrow
to help falling sleep

your head floats
in footnotes
and memories
you can’t avoid
but you wish you could
oh, you wish you could

you wish you could bury down this writings someday
but you would do it under a shallow grave because perhaps
you might want to read it over again
and cry those tears that always drop dry

you try it hard
in your best effort
but you can’t cry
’til you write more
but you can’t stop writing more

because there is
always something else
to talk about
in your heart’s mess
but no one deserves to know
no one deserves to know

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