reminiscence of a broken portrait

It feels like a chore, looking into your dead eyes 'i love you more'

I wonder , at the top of my bleeding throat sore, 

from screaming and crying  and begging at your once again closed door,

was i the one who ripped away, our dusty picture of Dorian Gray?

Slow motion dancing in the rain, 

seized frames from the good old days.

I don´t think i can stay any longer, 

because while I'm feed i still have a hunger.

I walked by your rules,

took shelter in the byline.

Lost sight not to see, 

as you murdered me.

Oh, I'm blind but I see;

In the meanwhile you begged please,

stop making me responsible of the shit I break.

-Lia Martínez. (Me)