quinta-feira, 13 de junho de 2024

i don't know what i am doing

what has crawled out the skin

was not healing but acceptance

rejected by the body akin to disease

oily, slimey and quite frankly stinky

an obscene solution laced with vandalism

violence to the people atop the mid-sized donkey

child I barely distinguise tree from stump, all the pretty colours

are anothers to name and frame

to capture axe by split on the table, desk and chair

do not forget the closet, wardrobe and cabinet

made especially for your mother

how to envelop and elupe bad decisions

rejected by the atribute of harmful domain

appropriation and self-reflection a trap on the lake

where crystal devours humans. 


improvise, adapt, for the sake of circunstance

we dance under the moonlight, sheltered from bad decisions

adulthood starts when you come to realize

there is only lending never a prize

replacing the protection of guardians for the betrayal of allowing the outside

to step inside and murk the place abouts.


heresy is neither thought nor false prayer

there ain't a cloud of difference in my position

a held scream a stain in the throat, quirky and in the way

of peace of mind when I sit down.

 I once had a date witnessing a live autopsy, my idea

 we clicked, laughted and walked away that day

a mistake meant to fade away, a grave to entertain on an otherwise dull convencional sequence

of words to pass the time, chopping at the letters carelessly because

terça-feira, 4 de junho de 2024

look at my palm and see hell in tarnation

pinch, slap and bite away at the dry skin

gone astray, numb and torn into pieces that pretend to mend

the fear behind the smile in your face

how to reawaken the warrior buried under the fairytale

the charm has been dispelled by the brutal reality of the mess

we pretend to just ignore as if Time would stand down on the aftermath

of the miscalculation, immense, fruitful and worthy

getting over the ledge and trying again.

mimic you mocker of the link regional to the wound

doctors say it costs little to hold faith

options limited when the hounds ate grandma

do gravediggers ever tire of separating dirt to make space

does the blade now dull, rusty and discarded find solace

in the crystal water of the lake, refuge at the bottom

whatever boomerang effect trials my patience beyond the path of reason

I command thy seize momentum and catapult yourself beyond the walls of treason

and leave me be.

surely even gods grow tired of toppled empires and twisted tongues

bifurced badly and uneven, enerving all to see