Deep in the Meadow

 Lost in the meadow, 

Walking but all too slow...

Tired in the meadow, 

What could you do but burry her, though?

"Burry me in a hole there, 

Burry me deep.

Leave me to rot there,

Leave me to sleep."

Endlessly tired of being so, so tired.

She used to be sad. 

But oh, so joyful, 

Was she mad? 

"Burry me in a hole there, 

Burry me deep.

Leave me to rot there,

Leave me to sleep."

Always full of life. So, so full of life, 

She was a bleeding sun.

Oh yes, she was bright. 

How come all felt numb?

"Burry me in a hole there,

burry me deep.

leave me to rot there,

leave me to sleep.

Burry me in a hole here. 

Burry me, burry me please.

Don't mark my grave, dear.

Let it all just cease."

― Mélissa Gonzalez, 14 octobre 2021

Lonesome Symphony

There is something inside of me,

Tiny fragment, such as a piece of tragedy.

There's nothing more outside of me,

That matters beyond this lonesome symphony.

I sing in tears and breathe in heaves,

Muffled by the sound of violins,

Silenced by the chaotic rythm of a blind conductor.

Faster, louder, pain and anger interpreting the score;

Unable to stop, to slow down,

Endlessly fixed on the baton beating insanity into my soul.

Breathless, about to fall,

It all slows down just for a few measures,

Just enough to ignite a spark of hope,

And get me reassured.

The never ending song of my heart breaking appart,

The forever unotticed agony of a soul that only wanted to be free.

For the conductor is undead and I am so broken,

For it feeds me hope so I'll feed it pain, again and again until it all ends.

― Mélissa Gonzalez, 9 Novembre 2020

Only for You

You were my everything,

But I let you down.

Now I hardly feel,

Like I'm broken down.

It's funny though isn't it?

How before you left everything was shit.

And now that you're gone,

I force myself to go on and on.

I don't want to disappoint you.

I pray you were right.

If I ever choose to leave though,

It wouldn't be right, Would it?

I used to stare in the mirror,

And scream my lungs out.

I used to draw bloody lines on my hands,

To feel the things I couldn't  write about.

The day you left I think I died with you. 

I would stare and stare,

You didn't even look like you;

So I locked the door,

And took care of you.

I'd never let you down, 

You know that, don't you?

Then when I left the room,

And locked myself in the bathroom;

I cried at my reflection,

Full of guilt from old intentions.

Somedays I let myself down.

But it's not the same as letting you down.

I cry, I hurt, but I won't disrespect you!

I might want to die sometimes, but I'll always pull through!

Only for you...

― Mélissa Gonzalez, 10 Décembre 2019

Plein d'Intentions, à Demi-Mot

Quand les mots sont bien plus que des mots, que les langues n’ont plus de barrières et que ce sont nos âmes qui se touchent. La littérature, c’est l’art de transmettre des sentiments, des notions abstraites, des pensées; sans jamais vraiment avoir à les expliquer, toujours à demi formulées. Les mots ne se suffisent pas à eux-mêmes, sans intentions ni volition, ils restent inaccessibles à toute interprétation. 

― Mélissa Gonzalez, 10 Décembre 2019

Un Trou en Moi-Même

C’est malheureux d’être tant malheureux en étant pourtant si heureux.

Je voudrais creuser un trou et m’y enterrer;

Un trou en moi-même si profond qu’on ne m’y retrouverait plus. 

Le reboucher d’une couche de sentiments, bien épaisse, tel un ciment,

Et oublier le monde qui nous entoure. 

Cesser d’exister autre part que dans moi-même. 

Ne plus être que conscience au-delà de la chair;

Immatérielle, tout en substance.

― Mélissa Gonzalez, 12 Décembre 2019

Solitude Partagée

Nous vivons, en fait, chacun une solitude partagée, presque collective.

Et de ce fait, parfois, je me sens un peu moins seule.

― Mélissa Gonzalez, 26 mars 2019

Sans pareille

Il était une fois,

L'histoire de toi, 

L'histoire de moi.

Tu étais belle, étincelante,

Une merveille incandescente.

Regarde-moi-Parle-moi-Ne m'oublie pas!

Tu me regardes sans me voir

Et dans mon coeur s'éteind l'espoir.

Pardonne-moi-Souris-moi-Ne t'en vas pas!

Il y a 7 ans, un matin de mai,

Je n'ai pourtant pas pu t'en empêcher.

― Mélissa Gonzalez, 29 septembre 2018