Red Flowers It is not known whether you are, or merely dreaming yourself. You endure. As if someone forgot to turn off the night. Your face split in two. Light and darkness. The red that runs down does not know if it is blood, or merely a memory. The lines blur, as if someone were trying to erase your world from memory. Your body is heavier than yesterday. Red flowers grow out of places that do not exist. From cracks and fissures that should not be there. They watch. Too red. Too self-assured. You breathe quietly. As if your breath might betray you. With an open mouth you try to cast out something that grows without your consent. The darkness within you does not scream. It does not hurt. It simply sits. Just like you. Just as weary. Just as quiet. The wall behind you is not a wall. The dirt is not dirt. Clinging days wait until you feel them once more. An abandoned sketch. With no beginning. With no end. With no decision. Congealed red. From unfinished movements, from unmade gestures, from a broken dream. The night poured into your depths, which someone forgot to spill out. You wait for something to finally break in the right place. But the breath does not return. And only the flowers know that you are trying. -- Lyrics: Sadness by the Sea © 2026
