sábado, 23 de abril de 2022

I crave attention. I dream of wanting to aspire greatness. My levels of ambition feel farther from a distance.

sell what's mine and keep what' yours

gifted those that obscure the rough stream

holy courage can feel tough, dumb shit

felt empty from inside so I said good-bye

scrolled down for a word of motivation, topped up

blank faces of those that live unsure of status, hey, huh, oh

as if we are already dead, make some space don't forget to subscr-

disregard the currency of pixelated art, can envy poison more than souls

drop the sham and therefore this phone call. as stars explode we write

of demons we love to hate to talk, think and test ourselves against

a foreign grain whose taste is rather adquired with moderate intent

lacked time to burn the candle of this one

all we give is spent and yet we keep track

perceived emotional investments, count me out.

 

a revolution draws near so foretold the butterflies

at the bottom of my guts tearing me kind of pain

as the toxins run finite we regain colour and we try again

after all we are human, we are not so different

we enjoy the moon and not getting over the leap

 

That threw us around the bend

inviting us to stay down, us the unworthy

afraid to make any sound, whatever might appeal

to a predator's assault, meaning, better breath me in

a welcoming smile by the morning.

the right words overrated

the connections a mismatched on a cut circuit

the string misused for ill purpose, grim gain and

 

I find disconfort in knowing I lost my way

struggling to get up and navigate the storm of present days.

terça-feira, 12 de abril de 2022

 if my words sting: your contribution cannot justify

what a fucking waste of time, at least we got to try

rocking the boat as we clashed paddles, opposing forces

collision that sparks the world ender, about time we get in

the mix of tryouts that give everyone just their fair share of hell

hey mister bossman won't you lend me shelter, feed and guide me

towards a better reality than the one making me feel down

like proper shit down my throat, stepped on a mighty pothole

is this disease of circunstance irreversable and ever suddenly

forever calling foward, fighting, a cold fire poking and pestering

lie to me and bury me slowly so to better entertain my enemies

curse this road, all the traffic and the deadman whose amputation

will not aid any ressurection nor CPR that much I know!?

my heartbeat is out of control and I am afraid to inhale in case my ribcage gives in

the timer has ticked over and the devil is urging me to act out

if god would send me an angel would I recognize it?

a giving gift filled with grace and no trickery

nor disappointment or poison to curve my smile

May, April soon turns to June, July

where the waves are not not alike

and the ground turns just as

we found ourselves lagging behind

beneath the burst of radiance we shrink

cower in the dilluded rain we mistook for gold

the very air fellow humans is polluded

we shot, we strangle those we are instructed to

blue hair, blue lips, blue skies

fair skin, marble bones, white crumbling nails

nimble nibbbles and disassemble, rearrange what's left

so easily agony dearest takes hold of me

back turn to the sun, interaction an enemy

the very air an obscure premonition of what can be

lucidity a fantasy that makes me livid, now that's beginning

to feel old: I surrender.