After spitting on the hand that once helped you,
After destroying it all just 'cause you felt blue,
After raging for something you quite didn't know,
After making enemies of the rain and the snow,
After mocking the feeling they offered as loyal,
After forgetting respect and crowning yourself royal,
After installing around you the perfect monopoly,
After having it planted, you poisoned the tree,
After carving the idol you labeled him banished,
After raising the sword, saying it wasn't brandished,
After wooing with deciet the lamb and the herder,
After having it all you just had to go further.
After forgiveness without end,
There is now no more amend,
For you made that sharp nail bed
The moment you wished me dead.
terça-feira, 22 de dezembro de 2009
domingo, 8 de novembro de 2009
Dançando com o Diabo
Efémera silhueta de chamas,
Tentação e razão da mente que terá sido una.
É ambíguo o passo lânguido da devassa figura,
Sendo ela não mais que um reflexo do ego
Que ondula ao sabor de não se sabe bem o quê.
Sucumbo aos seus prazeres.
E para quê?
Para me envolver nesta arte de primatas,
Este gerúndio sem fim que me apela à prevaricação.
Para ser castrada a liberdade com rasgados sorrisos
Que apenas tal figura onírica me poderia ofertar.
Ah, amistoso espectro da maldade mais inocente!
E pensar que me tentas, por místicos meios falíveis,
A cheirar também eu ao enxofre do teu reino sem súbditos.
E tudo por uma dança de bailarico,
Um teatro que não o era,
Uma sentida e pura vontade que não alcançará jamais a luz do dia...
Por um desejo ilegítimo morto à nascença.
Mas por fim voam centelhas ao pisar dos seus cascos!
E cospem-se labaredas, e vociferam-se impropérios em vil devaneio!
Solta-se a derradeira nota, cessa-se o passo,
Pois não mais a banda toca em honra de sua majestade infernal,
Fora a própria que por fim apelara ao silêncio.
Cai por terra a folia agora sem regras
Que, em tom passado, se ensinaram e aprenderam.
Não mais sucumbo a tomar a mão da discórdia
E renego a adulteração do ego que manifesto.
Não mais danço com a flamejante figura
Pois este Diabo tem pés de chumbo.
Tentação e razão da mente que terá sido una.
É ambíguo o passo lânguido da devassa figura,
Sendo ela não mais que um reflexo do ego
Que ondula ao sabor de não se sabe bem o quê.
Sucumbo aos seus prazeres.
E para quê?
Para me envolver nesta arte de primatas,
Este gerúndio sem fim que me apela à prevaricação.
Para ser castrada a liberdade com rasgados sorrisos
Que apenas tal figura onírica me poderia ofertar.
Ah, amistoso espectro da maldade mais inocente!
E pensar que me tentas, por místicos meios falíveis,
A cheirar também eu ao enxofre do teu reino sem súbditos.
E tudo por uma dança de bailarico,
Um teatro que não o era,
Uma sentida e pura vontade que não alcançará jamais a luz do dia...
Por um desejo ilegítimo morto à nascença.
Mas por fim voam centelhas ao pisar dos seus cascos!
E cospem-se labaredas, e vociferam-se impropérios em vil devaneio!
Solta-se a derradeira nota, cessa-se o passo,
Pois não mais a banda toca em honra de sua majestade infernal,
Fora a própria que por fim apelara ao silêncio.
Cai por terra a folia agora sem regras
Que, em tom passado, se ensinaram e aprenderam.
Não mais sucumbo a tomar a mão da discórdia
E renego a adulteração do ego que manifesto.
Não mais danço com a flamejante figura
Pois este Diabo tem pés de chumbo.
domingo, 11 de outubro de 2009
Frases feitas
Se o Verão é brasa em fúria,
Travo seco, fogo ardente,
O Inverno é fria lamúria,
Apatia omnipresente.
Se a calma é tempo imenso,
Linha sóbria e inteira,
A raiva é mistério denso,
Mancha negra, desordeira.
Se a alegria é orgasmo,
Trinta risos de assentada,
A tristeza é um poço
Onde já não nasce nada.
Se o dia é movimento,
Energia laboral,
A noite é ponderada
Em azul imperial.
Se amor é sentimento
Que vai longe e mais além,
O ódio não é diferente,
E é tudo isso também.
Se a verdade é trivial
Quanto tudo o que aqui disse,
Então pudera eu dar por ela
No momento em que a visse.
Travo seco, fogo ardente,
O Inverno é fria lamúria,
Apatia omnipresente.
Se a calma é tempo imenso,
Linha sóbria e inteira,
A raiva é mistério denso,
Mancha negra, desordeira.
Se a alegria é orgasmo,
Trinta risos de assentada,
A tristeza é um poço
Onde já não nasce nada.
Se o dia é movimento,
Energia laboral,
A noite é ponderada
Em azul imperial.
Se amor é sentimento
Que vai longe e mais além,
O ódio não é diferente,
E é tudo isso também.
Se a verdade é trivial
Quanto tudo o que aqui disse,
Então pudera eu dar por ela
No momento em que a visse.
segunda-feira, 5 de outubro de 2009
Uivo
Sombras espessas e geladas
Mancham as minhas passadas
Quando a lua, cheia e nua
Poisa em mim sua luz crua.
Pulsa forte, feia, fria
Como cheiro que arrepia.
Mancha fina, firme, forte
Comparável com a morte.
Mantra unilateral,
Voz distante, imaterial,
Luxuosa e sem igual.
Imune ao digital,
Cor vibrante, surreal,
D'uma saturação tal
Que se prova desleal
Contra luz artificial.
Esfera deusa no astral,
Fonte fresca e maternal,
Indiferente, mas sem mal,
Que eleva ao fatal
Qualquer desejo carnal,
Falso ou fundamental.
E eis que se vai, alada,
Em glória afugentada,
Para o seu apeadeiro.
Mais um dia soalheiro.
Mancham as minhas passadas
Quando a lua, cheia e nua
Poisa em mim sua luz crua.
Pulsa forte, feia, fria
Como cheiro que arrepia.
Mancha fina, firme, forte
Comparável com a morte.
Mantra unilateral,
Voz distante, imaterial,
Luxuosa e sem igual.
Imune ao digital,
Cor vibrante, surreal,
D'uma saturação tal
Que se prova desleal
Contra luz artificial.
Esfera deusa no astral,
Fonte fresca e maternal,
Indiferente, mas sem mal,
Que eleva ao fatal
Qualquer desejo carnal,
Falso ou fundamental.
E eis que se vai, alada,
Em glória afugentada,
Para o seu apeadeiro.
Mais um dia soalheiro.
terça-feira, 28 de julho de 2009
O homúnculo
Sacio uma vontade gutural na terceira pessoa
E pondero os místicos dizeres de além-ser.
Palpita pelas veias o sumo alado e ascendente,
Ode inaudível à esposa do hipotálamo, ela ressoa mesmo assim
Sereno esbracejas venoso que me comprime
Em forma antropomórfica desconhecida.
Exposta a minúcia da férrea corrente,
Monstro de cristais e mercúrio virulento,
Advém a mim, liliputiano imaginário, a suposição
De que vida invade a minha casa de carbono.
Mártir à condição craniana
Encolho-me qual ideia desviante
E masco pensamentos de discórdia e erotismo,
Extasiado pelos sons da madrugada.
Ardente pelo soltar da meninge,
Placenta envolvente e meu lar,
Quero saborear o prato genérico da consciência.
Monstro de escombros patológicos
Sem vesícula que me dissolva o desejo,
Arranho o crânio com a cor carmesim
E expulso as minhas dores agudas e reflexas
Em zumbidos estáticos e crescentes, vibrantes até ao estribo.
Mas eis que a sinfonia da sanidade
Se sobrepõe à minha cacofonia inquieta
Com o acordar do escudo da córnea,
Inundando-me de vaporosas trevas novamente.
Fecho o meu tórax e resfrio o meu canto
Para voltar a ser um feto de temores,
O parceiro do polígamo mestre raiado,
Cujo reino é o esqueleto e o fosso a louca consciência.
Sou novamente homúnculo,
O desejo de quem não me controla.
E pondero os místicos dizeres de além-ser.
Palpita pelas veias o sumo alado e ascendente,
Ode inaudível à esposa do hipotálamo, ela ressoa mesmo assim
Sereno esbracejas venoso que me comprime
Em forma antropomórfica desconhecida.
Exposta a minúcia da férrea corrente,
Monstro de cristais e mercúrio virulento,
Advém a mim, liliputiano imaginário, a suposição
De que vida invade a minha casa de carbono.
Mártir à condição craniana
Encolho-me qual ideia desviante
E masco pensamentos de discórdia e erotismo,
Extasiado pelos sons da madrugada.
Ardente pelo soltar da meninge,
Placenta envolvente e meu lar,
Quero saborear o prato genérico da consciência.
Monstro de escombros patológicos
Sem vesícula que me dissolva o desejo,
Arranho o crânio com a cor carmesim
E expulso as minhas dores agudas e reflexas
Em zumbidos estáticos e crescentes, vibrantes até ao estribo.
Mas eis que a sinfonia da sanidade
Se sobrepõe à minha cacofonia inquieta
Com o acordar do escudo da córnea,
Inundando-me de vaporosas trevas novamente.
Fecho o meu tórax e resfrio o meu canto
Para voltar a ser um feto de temores,
O parceiro do polígamo mestre raiado,
Cujo reino é o esqueleto e o fosso a louca consciência.
Sou novamente homúnculo,
O desejo de quem não me controla.
sábado, 4 de julho de 2009
Floating in denial
Float...
Float like a fallen green leaf.
Wander the surface of this vast lake's waters,
Let it's calmness become your soul's petty thief.
Wander...
Wander through the skies,
Let your eyes dance with the flying swallows,
See in clouds promises of sweet lies.
Listen...
Listen to the whistling wind,
The grass and bamboo flutes play distant tunes,
Which help you forget that you sinned.
Feel...
Feel the breeze in your skin,
Taking far away spoken words wished forgotten
With it's slow breath, so frail and thin.
Love...
Love this lake as the one you miss.
Float until your senses are pleased and your soul deceased,
Drift forgetting what you felt was amiss,
When you were dismissively denied
That very last kiss.
Float like a fallen green leaf.
Wander the surface of this vast lake's waters,
Let it's calmness become your soul's petty thief.
Wander...
Wander through the skies,
Let your eyes dance with the flying swallows,
See in clouds promises of sweet lies.
Listen...
Listen to the whistling wind,
The grass and bamboo flutes play distant tunes,
Which help you forget that you sinned.
Feel...
Feel the breeze in your skin,
Taking far away spoken words wished forgotten
With it's slow breath, so frail and thin.
Love...
Love this lake as the one you miss.
Float until your senses are pleased and your soul deceased,
Drift forgetting what you felt was amiss,
When you were dismissively denied
That very last kiss.
quarta-feira, 3 de junho de 2009
Fey tale
On Winter nights
The dark kin zests.
In foggy cold heights
The dragon rests.
On Spring dawns
The thin ice breaks.
Through songs of fauns,
The dragon wakes.
On Summer days
Warmth roams the skies.
While Pan's flute plays,
The dragon flies.
On Autumn dusks
The dryad cries.
Oblivion lurks,
The dragon dies.
The dark kin zests.
In foggy cold heights
The dragon rests.
On Spring dawns
The thin ice breaks.
Through songs of fauns,
The dragon wakes.
On Summer days
Warmth roams the skies.
While Pan's flute plays,
The dragon flies.
On Autumn dusks
The dryad cries.
Oblivion lurks,
The dragon dies.
Votos de Narciso
Que me beije, que me toque,
Que me segrede desejos.
Que mos conte, que os diga,
Que confesse os seus almejos.
Que me morda, que me lamba,
Que me me excite e me agrida.
Que me arranhe, que me puxe,
Que me prenda e sugue a vida.
Que me lave e me penteie,
Que me unte e apaparique.
Que me bajule e engraxe,
que me trate como um duque.
Que me adore e me venere,
Que me diga que me ama.
Que se atraia p'ra comigo
Como uma traça à chama.
Que me segrede desejos.
Que mos conte, que os diga,
Que confesse os seus almejos.
Que me morda, que me lamba,
Que me me excite e me agrida.
Que me arranhe, que me puxe,
Que me prenda e sugue a vida.
Que me lave e me penteie,
Que me unte e apaparique.
Que me bajule e engraxe,
que me trate como um duque.
Que me adore e me venere,
Que me diga que me ama.
Que se atraia p'ra comigo
Como uma traça à chama.
quarta-feira, 1 de abril de 2009
Vermelho
O sonho acabou.
Ele acordou como de costume: tarde, suado, babado e mal-cheiroso, como qualquer homem se sentiria num vespertino momento de calor. Levantou-se morosamente e caminhou, num passo nú e húmido até à casa de banho.
Olhou-se ao espelho.
Sentía-se notoriamente bonito naquele dia. Analisou a raiz dos seus cabelos, o grau de branco dos seus dentes, o tamanho da sua barba escura. Acariciava involuntariamente a sua barriga peluda e tanto-quando flácida, em todo este processo coçando a perna direita com a unha do dedo grande do pé esquerdo. Entrou no banho, e lavou as impurezas nocturnas de si. O castanho cabelo já um tanto quanto grande demais para ser curto, o rosto marcado pelos sinais do acne...
Saíu e cuidou escrupulosamente da sua barba. Cortou todos os incómodos pêlos em que a sua vista poderia poisar. Todos. Até ao fundo do poro. Dolorosamente, até...
Vestiu-se.
Ele não era uma figura particularmente notória. Era simples, uma figura tipo da sociedade comum e invisível. A sua camisa de flanela básica, as suas calças de ganga, as sapatilhas de marca branca... Um número.
Comeu o tardio pequeno-almoço.
O prometedor irresistível sabor achocolatado dos cereais não alterou em nada o seu dia. Souberam-lhe a amido modificado e corantes artificiais, o paladar que toda a vida lhe haviam proporcionado. Sorveu o restante leite poluído de pó de cacau do mesmo modo insípido, sem pestanejar, deixando escapar finos fios esbranquiçados pelos lábios tangentes com a taça, poisando-a vagarosamente então, erguendo o pesado corpo da cadeira como se fosse essa a última cadeira onde pudesse recostar-se. Não se apressou nos restates momentos da sua higiene; o lavar de dentes e o colocar do gel eram um ritual imprescindível, religioso até, aquando do erguer dos seus fios de cabelo quais colunas de um sagrado templo. Voltou ao seu quarto, pegou na sua mochila previamente preparada na noite anterior, e colocou-a às costas por uma alça apenas.
Saíu de casa. O silencioso adeus à figura maternal retorquiu-se com um irromper em choro desenfreado, quase lunático, sobre os ladrilhos do corredor de entrada, batendo fervorosamente a cabeça contra o chão. Não houve reacção. Apenas um fechar crú da porta, um estrondoso gesto seco e involuntário terminando no "click" metálico da fechadura. Esperou calmamente pelo elevador, desceu na companhia dos restantes condóminos, que lhe acenaram um cumprimento impessoal. Replicou o gesto, segurou na porta para saírem, sorriu e chamou puta à vizinha.
Caminhou pausadamente pela cidade.
Evitou contornar a escola à qual deveria ter ido, tal como todos os pontos de encontro de pessoas conhecidas. Não havia interesse em socializar. Apenas aquele deambular pausado, pensativo mas decidido, enquanto a confusão de carros se gerava nas movimentadas ruas, buzinando a tom mal educado e raivoso o retorno a casa da alta classe operária. Esperou que estes parassem nas passadeiras e respeitou os sinais luminosos para peões. O seu civismo era rígido, em detrimento do seu meio envolvente. Deixou-se mover pela íngreme subida até ao destino premeditado.
O local de encontro entre a linha do comboio e a ponte que se preparava para o transportar.
Parou e olhou para o rio.
Curiosos pedestres que passeavam os cães e suas famílias (do mesmo modo, subentenda-se) olhavam para o rapaz que ali jazia, estático, perigosamente á berma do encontro entre ponte e carrís. Tirou calmamente a sua mochila, de aparência vazia e mole, e dela retirou um objecto tão pequeno que lhe cabia na palma das mãos. Sem olhar em redor, tirou a tampa, e colocou nos seus lábios um forte baton vermelho.
E então...
Pulou.
Ele acordou como de costume: tarde, suado, babado e mal-cheiroso, como qualquer homem se sentiria num vespertino momento de calor. Levantou-se morosamente e caminhou, num passo nú e húmido até à casa de banho.
Olhou-se ao espelho.
Sentía-se notoriamente bonito naquele dia. Analisou a raiz dos seus cabelos, o grau de branco dos seus dentes, o tamanho da sua barba escura. Acariciava involuntariamente a sua barriga peluda e tanto-quando flácida, em todo este processo coçando a perna direita com a unha do dedo grande do pé esquerdo. Entrou no banho, e lavou as impurezas nocturnas de si. O castanho cabelo já um tanto quanto grande demais para ser curto, o rosto marcado pelos sinais do acne...
Saíu e cuidou escrupulosamente da sua barba. Cortou todos os incómodos pêlos em que a sua vista poderia poisar. Todos. Até ao fundo do poro. Dolorosamente, até...
Vestiu-se.
Ele não era uma figura particularmente notória. Era simples, uma figura tipo da sociedade comum e invisível. A sua camisa de flanela básica, as suas calças de ganga, as sapatilhas de marca branca... Um número.
Comeu o tardio pequeno-almoço.
O prometedor irresistível sabor achocolatado dos cereais não alterou em nada o seu dia. Souberam-lhe a amido modificado e corantes artificiais, o paladar que toda a vida lhe haviam proporcionado. Sorveu o restante leite poluído de pó de cacau do mesmo modo insípido, sem pestanejar, deixando escapar finos fios esbranquiçados pelos lábios tangentes com a taça, poisando-a vagarosamente então, erguendo o pesado corpo da cadeira como se fosse essa a última cadeira onde pudesse recostar-se. Não se apressou nos restates momentos da sua higiene; o lavar de dentes e o colocar do gel eram um ritual imprescindível, religioso até, aquando do erguer dos seus fios de cabelo quais colunas de um sagrado templo. Voltou ao seu quarto, pegou na sua mochila previamente preparada na noite anterior, e colocou-a às costas por uma alça apenas.
Saíu de casa. O silencioso adeus à figura maternal retorquiu-se com um irromper em choro desenfreado, quase lunático, sobre os ladrilhos do corredor de entrada, batendo fervorosamente a cabeça contra o chão. Não houve reacção. Apenas um fechar crú da porta, um estrondoso gesto seco e involuntário terminando no "click" metálico da fechadura. Esperou calmamente pelo elevador, desceu na companhia dos restantes condóminos, que lhe acenaram um cumprimento impessoal. Replicou o gesto, segurou na porta para saírem, sorriu e chamou puta à vizinha.
Caminhou pausadamente pela cidade.
Evitou contornar a escola à qual deveria ter ido, tal como todos os pontos de encontro de pessoas conhecidas. Não havia interesse em socializar. Apenas aquele deambular pausado, pensativo mas decidido, enquanto a confusão de carros se gerava nas movimentadas ruas, buzinando a tom mal educado e raivoso o retorno a casa da alta classe operária. Esperou que estes parassem nas passadeiras e respeitou os sinais luminosos para peões. O seu civismo era rígido, em detrimento do seu meio envolvente. Deixou-se mover pela íngreme subida até ao destino premeditado.
O local de encontro entre a linha do comboio e a ponte que se preparava para o transportar.
Parou e olhou para o rio.
Curiosos pedestres que passeavam os cães e suas famílias (do mesmo modo, subentenda-se) olhavam para o rapaz que ali jazia, estático, perigosamente á berma do encontro entre ponte e carrís. Tirou calmamente a sua mochila, de aparência vazia e mole, e dela retirou um objecto tão pequeno que lhe cabia na palma das mãos. Sem olhar em redor, tirou a tampa, e colocou nos seus lábios um forte baton vermelho.
E então...
Pulou.
quinta-feira, 29 de janeiro de 2009
Long ago...
There was someone...
Someone whose presence would fill a room, a smile so soft and warm as a child's very first blanket... Yet energetic, so vibrant... That face, that carefree smile will be engraved in my heart forever. The face of love at first sight. Any barriers I had were thrown to the floor. Crushed, defeated. It was ecstasy... It was three thousand times any sensation I had experienced. It was beyond love or passion. It was total vulnerability...
And I enjoyed it so...
Long conversations we had, about what we would do, where we would go. Plans, words, gestures... All of that I received, making me wonder if my heart would be able to beat stronger than it was beating then. All those signs, all those words... I had an idea, and put it to practice. I gave this person my heart. I had in engraved in gold and wrapped up in satin. I handed it on a silver plate and waited anxiously for the longed reply...
But it never came...
Nights and nights I waited alone at home. Time passed slowly back then, as it does for children. I would brush my teeth ten times, I would comb my hair a thousand others... But time stood still. Songs which would have minutes were played in a second and a second was too many time to delay such an answer. I started to realize that my heart was aching... Like a used band aid...
It had been thrown out...
I cried, yes. I cursed my fate, I ate fast food in front of the TV, feeling miserable, hateful and unwanted. I cursed myself too, for obeying that horrible cliché . I searched and searched, hoping to find that lost feeling somewhere... In anyone... But I didn't. My heart wasn't mine anymore. I resented every little moment of sweetness I had with that someone. Flaming thoughts of revenge crossed my mind, revenge against that mesmerizing beautiful figure of pure charm that I simply couldn't resist... I hated that figure so... I became bitter...
And I became so cold...
Years have passed, and my chest aches no more. It is plain, normal, a chest for living the common everyday life. I no longer wish on everlasting feelings, charming presences or vibrant smiles. I am now mundane.
My heart remains in that waste basket, longing for acceptance...
My heart is no more.
Long ago, there was an angel...
An angel which shined bright in the most unexpected location. I walked into that unknown place one day and there it was, just... Standing there. It was not the most glorious angel. It had not the perfect features, the golden halo nor the majestic wings. yet I know it was an angel. Just... That presence, looking at me. I didn't know what to make of such an apparition...
I was confused...
Did I walk to it or it to me? I do not remember. It was sudden and out of nowhere. Like that earthquake you know is bound to happen, but you never truly expect it... Until it happens. It was a sudden connection. So vivid, so strong and yet as simple as meeting any other person. It was a bond that, from that brief moment on, would be unbreakable. An unstoppable force of nature...
I wanted to believe that so...
The angel soon disappeared, leaving promises of return. I prayed as I had been told to. I followed every rule it gave me religiously, from dawn to dusk. Such strong, naive belief in my soul. Such childish innocence...Then time started slowing down. I kept following the rules blindly, ever tortured by the long tic tacs from that hellish clock. I hated that clock so much... It was only me and that clock...
And no angel to guide my naive soul...
I started having doubts, second thoughts. I searched every book, every tome... There was no such angel. Was I deceived? Was I used? Doubt turned to feint certainties. How would I know I was sure? Was I not faithful enough? Had I not followed correctly every rule? How could I have been abandoned so easily if it was all true? And how could I have been so easily deceived if it was all a lie?
I felt so lonely...
No more the angel visited me, although the memory still lives in me. The soul that used to believe it all is now a haunt, a simple ghost that wanders in my shadow, ever casting away the thought of that painful deceit.
Still, my foolish soul still searches for a last glimpse of that light somewhere far away...
My soul is gone.
Long ago, there was an angel... There was someone...
An angel which shined bright in the most unexpected location. I walked into that unknown place one day and there it was, just... Standing there. It was not the most glorious angel. It had not the perfect features, the golden halo nor the majestic wings. yet I know it was an angel. Just... That presence, looking at me. I didn't know what to make of such an apparition...Someone whose presence would fill a room, a smile so soft and warm as a child's very first blanket... Yet energetic, so vibrant... That face, that carefree smile will be engraved in my heart forever. The face of love at first sight. Any barriers I had were thrown to the floor. Crushed, defeated. It was ecstasy... It was three thousand times any sensation I had experienced. It was beyond love or passion. It was total vulnerability...
I was confused... And I enjoyed it so...
Did I walk to it or it to me? I do not remember. It was sudden and out of nowhere. Like that earthquake you know is bound to happen, but you never truly expect it... Until it happens. It was a sudden connection. So vivid, so strong and yet as simple as meeting any other person. It was a bond that, from that brief moment on, would be unbreakable. An unstoppable force of nature... Long conversations we had, about what we would do, where we would go. Plans, words, gestures... All of that I received, making me wonder if my heart would be able to beat stronger than it was beating then. All those signs, all those words... I had an idea, and put it to practice. I gave this person my heart. I had in engraved in gold and wrapped up in satin. I handed it on a silver plate and waited anxiously for the longed reply...
I wanted to believe that so... But it never came...
The angel soon disappeared, leaving promises of return. I prayed as I had been told to. I followed every rule it gave me religiously, from dawn to dusk. Such strong, naive belief in my soul. Such childish innocence...Then time started slowing down. I kept following the rules blindly, ever tortured by the long tic tacs from that hellish clock. I hated that clock so much... It was only me and that clock... Nights and nights I waited alone at home. Time passed slowly back then, as it does for children. I would brush my teeth ten times, I would comb my hair a thousand others... But time stood still. Songs which would have minutes were played in a second and a second was too many time to delay such an answer. I started to realize that my heart was aching... Like a used band aid...
And no angel to guide my naive soul... It had been thrown out...
I started having doubts, second thoughts. I searched every book, every tome... There was no such angel. Was I deceived? Was I used? Doubt turned to feint certainties. How would I know I was sure? Was I not faithful enough? Had I not followed correctly every rule? How could I have been abandoned so easily if it was all true? And how could I have been so easily deceived if it was all a lie? I cried, yes. I cursed my fate, I ate fast food in front of the TV, feeling miserable, hateful and unwanted. I cursed myself too, for obeying that horrible cliché . I searched and searched, hoping to find that lost feeling somewhere... In anyone... But I didn't. My heart wasn't mine anymore. I resented every little moment of sweetness I had with that someone. Flaming thoughts of revenge crossed my mind, revenge against that mesmerizing beautiful figure of pure charm that I simply couldn't resist... I hated that figure so... I became bitter...
I felt so lonely... And I became so cold...
No more the angel visited me, although the memory still lives in me. The soul that used to believe it all is now a haunt, a simple ghost that wanders in my shadow, ever casting away the thought of that painful deceit. Years have passed, and my chest aches no more. It is plain, normal, a chest for living the common everyday life. I no longer wish on everlasting feelings, charming presences or vibrant smiles. I am now mundane.
Still, my foolish soul still searches for a last glimpse of that light somewhere far away... My heart remains in that waste basket, longing for acceptance...
My soul is gone.
My heart is no more.
Someone whose presence would fill a room, a smile so soft and warm as a child's very first blanket... Yet energetic, so vibrant... That face, that carefree smile will be engraved in my heart forever. The face of love at first sight. Any barriers I had were thrown to the floor. Crushed, defeated. It was ecstasy... It was three thousand times any sensation I had experienced. It was beyond love or passion. It was total vulnerability...
And I enjoyed it so...
Long conversations we had, about what we would do, where we would go. Plans, words, gestures... All of that I received, making me wonder if my heart would be able to beat stronger than it was beating then. All those signs, all those words... I had an idea, and put it to practice. I gave this person my heart. I had in engraved in gold and wrapped up in satin. I handed it on a silver plate and waited anxiously for the longed reply...
But it never came...
Nights and nights I waited alone at home. Time passed slowly back then, as it does for children. I would brush my teeth ten times, I would comb my hair a thousand others... But time stood still. Songs which would have minutes were played in a second and a second was too many time to delay such an answer. I started to realize that my heart was aching... Like a used band aid...
It had been thrown out...
I cried, yes. I cursed my fate, I ate fast food in front of the TV, feeling miserable, hateful and unwanted. I cursed myself too, for obeying that horrible cliché . I searched and searched, hoping to find that lost feeling somewhere... In anyone... But I didn't. My heart wasn't mine anymore. I resented every little moment of sweetness I had with that someone. Flaming thoughts of revenge crossed my mind, revenge against that mesmerizing beautiful figure of pure charm that I simply couldn't resist... I hated that figure so... I became bitter...
And I became so cold...
Years have passed, and my chest aches no more. It is plain, normal, a chest for living the common everyday life. I no longer wish on everlasting feelings, charming presences or vibrant smiles. I am now mundane.
My heart remains in that waste basket, longing for acceptance...
My heart is no more.
Long ago, there was an angel...
An angel which shined bright in the most unexpected location. I walked into that unknown place one day and there it was, just... Standing there. It was not the most glorious angel. It had not the perfect features, the golden halo nor the majestic wings. yet I know it was an angel. Just... That presence, looking at me. I didn't know what to make of such an apparition...
I was confused...
Did I walk to it or it to me? I do not remember. It was sudden and out of nowhere. Like that earthquake you know is bound to happen, but you never truly expect it... Until it happens. It was a sudden connection. So vivid, so strong and yet as simple as meeting any other person. It was a bond that, from that brief moment on, would be unbreakable. An unstoppable force of nature...
I wanted to believe that so...
The angel soon disappeared, leaving promises of return. I prayed as I had been told to. I followed every rule it gave me religiously, from dawn to dusk. Such strong, naive belief in my soul. Such childish innocence...Then time started slowing down. I kept following the rules blindly, ever tortured by the long tic tacs from that hellish clock. I hated that clock so much... It was only me and that clock...
And no angel to guide my naive soul...
I started having doubts, second thoughts. I searched every book, every tome... There was no such angel. Was I deceived? Was I used? Doubt turned to feint certainties. How would I know I was sure? Was I not faithful enough? Had I not followed correctly every rule? How could I have been abandoned so easily if it was all true? And how could I have been so easily deceived if it was all a lie?
I felt so lonely...
No more the angel visited me, although the memory still lives in me. The soul that used to believe it all is now a haunt, a simple ghost that wanders in my shadow, ever casting away the thought of that painful deceit.
Still, my foolish soul still searches for a last glimpse of that light somewhere far away...
My soul is gone.
Long ago, there was an angel... There was someone...
An angel which shined bright in the most unexpected location. I walked into that unknown place one day and there it was, just... Standing there. It was not the most glorious angel. It had not the perfect features, the golden halo nor the majestic wings. yet I know it was an angel. Just... That presence, looking at me. I didn't know what to make of such an apparition...Someone whose presence would fill a room, a smile so soft and warm as a child's very first blanket... Yet energetic, so vibrant... That face, that carefree smile will be engraved in my heart forever. The face of love at first sight. Any barriers I had were thrown to the floor. Crushed, defeated. It was ecstasy... It was three thousand times any sensation I had experienced. It was beyond love or passion. It was total vulnerability...
I was confused... And I enjoyed it so...
Did I walk to it or it to me? I do not remember. It was sudden and out of nowhere. Like that earthquake you know is bound to happen, but you never truly expect it... Until it happens. It was a sudden connection. So vivid, so strong and yet as simple as meeting any other person. It was a bond that, from that brief moment on, would be unbreakable. An unstoppable force of nature... Long conversations we had, about what we would do, where we would go. Plans, words, gestures... All of that I received, making me wonder if my heart would be able to beat stronger than it was beating then. All those signs, all those words... I had an idea, and put it to practice. I gave this person my heart. I had in engraved in gold and wrapped up in satin. I handed it on a silver plate and waited anxiously for the longed reply...
I wanted to believe that so... But it never came...
The angel soon disappeared, leaving promises of return. I prayed as I had been told to. I followed every rule it gave me religiously, from dawn to dusk. Such strong, naive belief in my soul. Such childish innocence...Then time started slowing down. I kept following the rules blindly, ever tortured by the long tic tacs from that hellish clock. I hated that clock so much... It was only me and that clock... Nights and nights I waited alone at home. Time passed slowly back then, as it does for children. I would brush my teeth ten times, I would comb my hair a thousand others... But time stood still. Songs which would have minutes were played in a second and a second was too many time to delay such an answer. I started to realize that my heart was aching... Like a used band aid...
And no angel to guide my naive soul... It had been thrown out...
I started having doubts, second thoughts. I searched every book, every tome... There was no such angel. Was I deceived? Was I used? Doubt turned to feint certainties. How would I know I was sure? Was I not faithful enough? Had I not followed correctly every rule? How could I have been abandoned so easily if it was all true? And how could I have been so easily deceived if it was all a lie? I cried, yes. I cursed my fate, I ate fast food in front of the TV, feeling miserable, hateful and unwanted. I cursed myself too, for obeying that horrible cliché . I searched and searched, hoping to find that lost feeling somewhere... In anyone... But I didn't. My heart wasn't mine anymore. I resented every little moment of sweetness I had with that someone. Flaming thoughts of revenge crossed my mind, revenge against that mesmerizing beautiful figure of pure charm that I simply couldn't resist... I hated that figure so... I became bitter...
I felt so lonely... And I became so cold...
No more the angel visited me, although the memory still lives in me. The soul that used to believe it all is now a haunt, a simple ghost that wanders in my shadow, ever casting away the thought of that painful deceit. Years have passed, and my chest aches no more. It is plain, normal, a chest for living the common everyday life. I no longer wish on everlasting feelings, charming presences or vibrant smiles. I am now mundane.
Still, my foolish soul still searches for a last glimpse of that light somewhere far away... My heart remains in that waste basket, longing for acceptance...
My soul is gone.
My heart is no more.
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