Vermillion (She isn´t real, I can´t make her real)

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She seemed dressed in all of me stretched across my shame. All the torment and the pain leaked through and covered me. I’d do anything to have her to myself, just to have her for myself. Now I don’t know what to do, I don’t know what to do… when she makes me sad.

She is everything to me, the unrequited dream, the song that no one sings, the unattainable. She’s a myth that I have to believe in, all I need to make it real is one more reason.

I don’t know what to do,
I don’t know what to do
when she makes me sad.

But I won’t let this build up inside of me. 

A catch in my throat choke. Torn into pieces. I won’t. No. I don’t want to be this but I won’t let this build up inside of me (won’t let this build up inside of me)

She isn’t real. (I won’t let this build up inside me)
I can’t make her real. (I won’t let this build up inside me)
She isn’t real. (I won’t let this build up inside of me)
I can’t make her real.(I won’t let this build up inside of me)

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Autor: Enrique Zamorano

Periodista, escritor y músico. Autor de "La muerte del Hombre Orquesta" (LUMA, 89plus, 2014) y de la pequeña antología "Adiós a las águilas: seis poemas de Leopoldo María Panero" (2014). Love In Veins, Raindogs, Last River Together...

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