“…Every step that I take is another mistake to you”

I’m tired of being what you want me to be
Feeling so faithless lost under the surface
Don’t know what you’re expecting of me
Put under the pressure of walking in your shoes
(Caught in the undertow just caught in the undertow)
Every step that I take is another mistake to you
(Caught in the undertow just caught in the undertow)
And every second I waste is more than I can take

I’ve become so numb I can’t feel you there
I’ve become so tired so much more aware
I’m becoming this all I want to do
Is be more like me and be less like you

2 comentarios sobre ““…Every step that I take is another mistake to you”

  1. a semejante ejercicio de valentía, ardor y cosa buena para el alma le va bien, lo que sigue, de Charles Bukowski…
    “ A Definition ”

    love is a light at
    night running through the fog

    love is a beer cap
    stepped on while on the way
    to the bathroom

    love is the lost key to your door
    when you’re drunk

    love is what happens
    one year in ten

    love is a crushed cat
    love is the old newsboy on the
    corner who has
    given it up

    love is what you think the other
    person has destroyed

    love is what vanished with the
    age of battleships

    love is the phone ringing
    the same voice or another
    voice but never the right
    voice

    love is betrayal
    love is the burning of the
    homeless in the alley

    love is steel
    love is the cockroach
    love is a mailbox

    love is rain upon the roof
    of an old hotel
    in Los Angeles

    love is your father in a coffin
    (who hated you)

    love is a horse with a broken
    leg
    trying to stand
    while 45,000 people
    watch

    love is the body we boil
    like the lobster

    love is everything we said
    it wasn’t

    love is the flea you can’t
    find
    and love is a mosquito
    love is 50 grenadiers
    love is an empty
    bedpan

    love is a riot in San Quentin
    love is a madhouse
    love is a donkey standing in a
    street of flies
    love is an empty barstool
    love is the film of the Hindenburg
    curling to pieces

    a moment that still screams
    love is Dostoyevsky at the
    roulette wheel

    love is what crawls along
    the ground
    love is your woman dancing
    pressed against a stranger

    love is an old woman
    stealing a loaf of
    bread

    and love is a word used
    too much and
    much
    too soon.

    CHARLES BUKOWSKI – “The Night Mad With Footsteps”

Deja un comentario

Tu dirección de correo electrónico no será publicada. Los campos obligatorios están marcados con *