terça-feira, 20 de junho de 2017

Attend to the extend of my failings

Is the virtues of self-discovery
As volumous as we perceive it to be?
Did we stroke a vine of livelihood
perhaps during the day, we could be a-ok
No internal bleeding, ringing a futile alarm
Draining someone else's chances of reconciliation
At night, as we waited for a sign
We managed to stop counting the days

What could open this cage
On which I have consolidated my devotion
How can it be, intermutual and falling through
I had a plan, and she a change to be set in time.
Can't I truly kill time? Everything always changes and then turns around..
Beyond that lapse, over each obstacle that I left behind

If I swore I do apologize
As it is expected and long overdue
Emocional, of sorts, honest to the God's
Both in my dreams and close to me
Masters of my soul, destiny and cell
Are you calling me?

quarta-feira, 31 de maio de 2017

A rat in the sewers, a pet in an empty house. A meal to the cat and the hungry, alike.

I could, hold the light within this breath
Take a step back, an emphasis on the chaotic
Snare the concept in the past, seduce the fools
Killing them with reminisces of sweeter liars
A bolt to induce a rapid sense of urgency
To shower those in need with the causation of choice
Fuck, now we tunnel down on drama
To shower for I seek cleansing
I name it my honour, an habit for wardrobe
Acess faith, invigilate method of conduct as conduits
To shower out of necessity for privacy
A pusuit of an hobby, perhaps a secret singer's pleasure
Now we second guessing agonies and wonders
We envelop the lamp in warm arms that eclipse
Chances to resist, desist and surrender to my equality
Remind me, to shower to uphold a moment of serenity
As I think of the wonderful prison industry
And the academic failures that link to indoor conspiracy
What I do not understand fills many a dark holes and corner
You forget only the mailman is entitled to carry a message
Burn your figurine, a disgusting atribute of hope
Crush that crux, it irritates my skin
Alas, since when did we turn to media for the soles
Unto which my shoes fit a purpose?
Others walk on barefeet alone if need be
We came not to realize we fell prey to vampires
Bloodsuckers all around
Hey, monsters already rose from underneath the bed
Are you about to let them kill me?

quarta-feira, 24 de maio de 2017

Fate made for a simpleton's script

Shuffle the deck, just right
Set aside a trump card, sensing defeat
One pulls another stunt, from the grave
Almost, certain, that we haven't seen your best
All we give, in, to stand in the ground under the weight
Existing to siege momentum, cut down doubt
Before it takes root
So, shall we wait?

Some face up to faith as a power source
I hope, for our sake we write this charade off
Or we risk the vice of stagnation
Is it embarassing to feel optimisticly
confortably numb? 
I rather hallucionate, vivivly at that darling
Then be a delusional hopeless case of serviture
Marred by pain and tangled in lesser escapes
I cherish my dreams and wave at them
Recognizing both, where I came from
And where, should I stop, I was heading to
A fucked up script, but alas, the only one I know

Wonderful, sensations can also let us to a crash and burn
Terror for fear we shan't ever rise anew
A fenix darling, the human capacity for laughter
Regardless of tragedy and anomaly alike
And for those who came near the abyss
but looked back, tripping foward off the ledge?
A toast, a salutation that denies forgiveness for sin
But provides confort in rememberance
There is a lesson to be learned
And if hope and wishful thinking
Should provide, a future generation to guide

Ah, ha. Least we let it escape
From the corner of the world to my reptil tongue
Astrology contributes to inspire liars
But baby, what I need to do and what I need doing
Is to start a religion and complement those lips
Cursing the fact they aren't yet mine

sábado, 20 de maio de 2017

The month grows cold

Forsaken morning glory
Casting spells, deviance to mark a point
Generally speaking, plain fuckery
I would sell my secrets
But I cannot pronunciate jokes
Without shiver and penance in my spine
For a moral compass, no two ways about it.

I came to pick up the habit
Of scratching my wrists
Tapping the fingers in solace
That my nerves would erupt
Through supersticion and shame, exposed
Knock on wood, it shan't be a rouse
Of acting cold towards, what was it again?

Absolutely maddening growing old
When one sees rogues at every turn
Devils in disguise, beckoning at the shadows
So far, ah, oh, ha, mhm..
To course skin through fingertips
A sign of life, pleasing in commodity
In need of a new lead, a plan to follow up
To the truth in someone else's eyes...

domingo, 9 de abril de 2017

The moon was gracious and that is alright with me

For lack of better words in order to reach
A secondary result, refuting my shortcomings
Have you ever pondered
What could had been if Time was elastic
To extend any particular moment where one
Hasty in response or the tone of his voice
Mused speed and by disregarding finesse
Lost all but the timing of eloquence
A clap-trap, granted, by order of rash exhaustion
Exalted by exposing secrets, open for the crowd to decide

Alas, silence speaks wonders sometimes
But, then again, so does anyone's face as of late
John Does, with grayed hair and faces
Baggy eyes, their spirits a reflection of a faint sense of urgency
I cannot deny I too would rather pray for absolution
Were my sons and daughters content to walk this earth without a heart
To you hear it? An enervating vibe of imminence?
Can we uphold this movement, up-keeping a religion
That ignores the warning signs, to take more then we can give
For we would do so much better on our own
As long as technology impulses us further

To replace the Maker
Emancipation and turn the world concepts upside down
To draft the fellowship into chaos
There is word on the streets, war and blood on the horizon
Ah! But equality should follow the tragedy
For post-turning everyone (else) basically into my enemy
There would be no one else to rule beside me
Alas, our very essence and souls are under pressured

To turn my doubts into violence, friends
Is both easy and a provokingly smooth transaction
Gold for lies. Lives for means. Excuses for prayers and thoughts.
Aware that the feeling, good, lingers upstream in a bodily holy communion
It does feel good, for vice is tempting and broke better men before
My principles cannot compare, caught wind of a mere breeze
and off they gone, "where were you?".
I might tire of making up my mind
The moon shall stay a gracious idol, and that is alright with me

quarta-feira, 5 de abril de 2017

Held my hang, cherished my touch.

Ragged cloth, weaken spirits
I was so sure we truly fucked it up that time
Tripped over my own ego, snared by an easier road
The distance stands equal to yesterday
Childhood amnesia? I disagree
I could be merry and breeze through
Hard work, blood, sweat and tears
For it rains, even indoors, tonight
On special occasions, such as this
A shared birthday, birthright, connecting
Damaged pride, injuries that open up
Whenever words get exchanged pound by pound

It got me thinking
After all is settled dust and done
Dawn and sunrise shall follow
Once more, regardless and inconsequential
For I matter so very, very little to most
And that is quite alright
I find charming to be taught and schooled
For idols of mine not of old in shambles
Familiar voices, sweet adoring voices
They talked of memories 
As if to warn me, I rest assured
Preoccupied for my health, bless their souls
I fear not to be missing out
For I am a man on a mission
Never to be engulfed on that which is wicked
And achieve, through action and virtue
Something I can take good measure and rest upon
As the worthy soil and show of those who made it possible

What then to make them realize
Should the flesh falter
And my tones tremble
For I am a mere mortal and weary from travel
And experimentation alike
I shan't give up yet, furthermore, ever
To try to make a change and generate it
To inspire and produce providence
To some, never simply to captivate through necessity
Never that, far too plain and liable to sin
Not exactly what I suppose
You came here today to hear my dear?
"I don't really wanna be the bitch that gets shit and bottles it
Deliberately swallows it, one elss contender, life
They'll provide the documents to make believe you're gonna fit
Spend your time as a militant, self-help perfection hype 
We can make this real
Already tried to go for gold
Let's go! For the stories that remain untold."

sexta-feira, 17 de março de 2017

If I talk, it is for self-sufficient entertainment. If I listen, well, charmed I suppose.

You look me with such maddening eyes
Trembling in fear, accusing me with dead-pan eyes
Transfixed, doing what is I thought right
I cannot amend for turning this water bland
Unavoidable, fine, mediocre onto stampeding my growth
God, let it be next time that I am allowed to get it right

I came to thinking, restless at early dawn
As my breath grew shorter
And slow
Then fast, rapid even
Suffocating and out of rhythm
Running might be the death of me
Shaping up to it at the very least
I cannot deny however how real
This dirt bed feels to me
and so, I came to thinking
About the shortcomings
and the great ventures
The role-models
uneven and without equal
The vastness of what's to come
And what is there, left and up for grabs
What will I learn? From whom?
Truly interesting.
Those that intervene in my regard
Shall make or break my days success
Those at bay, navigating the shadows
Unrewarded, never without merit
If anything, I bow down
one does not do what he pleases
Without piercing a pin through a butterfly
And feeding the wildfire until one is itself ash.