marbles aren't as pretty when they're broken

my attempt at translating my own poetry, as the original is in spanish. i tried portraying the same intentions the first one had, changing some sentences or words to try to show what i thought in a more "artistic" & creative way. this came to me at like 1am. was like a shower thought, except it's an almost-shower thought.

one drop, and two, and three, and...
it's monotonous but non-stop. like two people that consider themselves 'the perfect couple' to then just be appeareances. attention. do you like attention? it's chaotic. how you and i can get along so well but be so bad. we're not like the rest. we're ok. do you love me? if i had the tools needed i'd create songs for you. lyrics written with a bloody hand, crushed fingers and a heart that has long since stopped beating for the same purpose. sometimes i feel i'm like a matchbox. you use it, throw it away... or you save it to collect, but what is the purpose? to be one in a thousand of other options? why so many boxes of matches? a exhibition of clowns that let themselves be manipulated would do better.
SO great!!! life passes and no one has the guts to go through it with their own rules (fuck whoever invented the concept of time).

after all, no one sees the inside of things nor do they question it. accepting concepts as facts is useless, but we've all done it.

crisantemo