En algún lugar sin nombre.
18 de Noviembre, 2025.
People say I’ve got a good-guy face, like it means something… like it keeps the rot underneath from spilling out. Truth is, none of it matters. Not the smile, not the scars, not the lies I tell myself just to get through the day. There’s no redemption waiting, no grand meaning behind the chaos. I’m just a man wearing a borrowed face, trying to hold back the part of me that knows the world burns no matter what I do — and sometimes wishes it would burn faster.
18 de Noviembre, 2025.
People say I’ve got a good-guy face, like it means something… like it keeps the rot underneath from spilling out. Truth is, none of it matters. Not the smile, not the scars, not the lies I tell myself just to get through the day. There’s no redemption waiting, no grand meaning behind the chaos. I’m just a man wearing a borrowed face, trying to hold back the part of me that knows the world burns no matter what I do — and sometimes wishes it would burn faster.
En algún lugar sin nombre.
18 de Noviembre, 2025.
People say I’ve got a good-guy face, like it means something… like it keeps the rot underneath from spilling out. Truth is, none of it matters. Not the smile, not the scars, not the lies I tell myself just to get through the day. There’s no redemption waiting, no grand meaning behind the chaos. I’m just a man wearing a borrowed face, trying to hold back the part of me that knows the world burns no matter what I do — and sometimes wishes it would burn faster.
