Chingona

Ella es mi Campeona,
La mas Chingona

She is my champion,
the baddest bitch.

I've put my life in her hands.
Trusting her completely.

And
should we lose, we lose together.

But she can not lose,
She is a Champion.

My Champion,
the baddest Bitch.

With her smarts
and my heart,
(together)
We can not lose.

Like a Valkyrie
she will chose who the fuck will live
and who will die, upon the field of battle.
(pobres cabrones, me dan lastima)

and should Odin chose that I fall in battle,
she will carry me up, to the mercy of Valhalla.

But together, we can not lose.
(juntos a la victoria)

She is a Champion.

My Champion,
the baddest bitch.

Ella es mi Campeona,
La mas Chingona

shadow play

"My love's like the warmth of the sun
It won't ever die"-  The Beach Boys



When you shine your light on me,

you cast my shadow on the ground.

When I move closer the shadow grows.

The brighter your light the darker it appears. 

there is no escaping it.

You see me and you see my shadow.

But I only see your light,

and if I stare into you much longer it will blind me.

Until I begin to resent our arrangement in the cosmos.

So I close my eyes and
you become all shadow.

And the longer my eyes stay closed ,
our shadows play.

Until it is like a dream,
that I do not want to wake from.

But I always open my eyes,
for death, is to keep your eyes closed forever.

So, I choose to not look away-
to let your light blind me.

To be left in my mind,
left in the coldness of space.

Only to feel the warmth of your light.

Like a planet ellipses around a sun,

I get closer and further to you.

Endlessly-
Closer and further

Endless
Springs and Winters

Until you resent our arrangement in the cosmos.

 Until you Supernova-
collapsing into a Black Hole.

No one escapes,
No one spared.

And there in that hole,
I do not dream of what darkness dwells.

It Suits You

Say something pretty.

You're good with words.
(but not much else)

There has to be something you want to admit.
To lay out like a suit on your bed,
before you wear it.

The truth is the last real beautiful thing there is, wear it well,
and hang failure around you neck,
like a tie.

You have been failing at so much,
for so long.
You wear it well.

But you were always good with words.
Without them,
you're barely anything-
you're barely alive.

So, say something pretty,
lay out something beautiful to wear,
something dark
something true
something black.

As if attending a funeral,
you look good in Black.
(It suits you)

Even if the funeral is your own.