Friday, 18 May 2018

You move me
like the waves in the ocean slowing down in the sunset
and the skinny rain giving a nostalgic colour to everything

It's like the blues when the guitar is swinging slowly
and the light caresses that your hands do to my hair
and through the dawn the music we hear till daylight

You make my heart mellow
with the beauty of your verses
and all the nights that I spend
remembering that one and only time
we sat by your window
watching the swallows fly. 

Tuesday, 8 May 2018

Like water, shapeless, 
I float in the ocean;
Like wind, wild,
I roam with my mind;
not ethereal, nor underground,
not in a limbo, not in a merry-go-round
but just invisible like sound.

Sunday, 6 May 2018

Wednesday, 25 April 2018

If the purest of persons would come over, certainly the wilted roses would bloom again.
But in this world there is no such person.
It is the mysterious adventure of a blind man who dives in the ocean, the man without arms and legs that skydives and the deaf man who goes to a concert.

Saturday, 21 April 2018

Depression Major or Major Depression...

Life got me longing for what I've lost before I've had even found it, but not only that...
also left me sad like a guitar that just lost its last string.

Friday, 20 April 2018

Here's to being a sad tomato and eating ham on rye...

The perpetual lost and lonely children

On and on, through the history of mankind,
people are fabricated to be lost and lonely children.
It is a factory of unconscious existence
producing them,
these abandoned drifting beings,
generally roaming in the insidious nights,
drunken dawns
where the likes of Rhys and Bukowski meet,
they all suffer of extreme awareness
and do everything to numb it
in the struggle to survive another day
in a corrupt and rotting society
without knowing exactly why and what for
We are the defeated, the demented and damned
hurt from the start by our creators,
so complex and everywhere
but never able to be found.

Sunday, 15 April 2018

Pictures on the Wall

Will you remember me when I'm gone?
I am the man who watched over you,
Stayed by your bedside singing a song
And never saw that your love was true.

Now, I know that I'm not on your mind.
The times has passed and you are gone.
I'll never understand why you left me behind,
But surely I'm just part of what went wrong.

The ghostly visions of you make me tremble
Like the images on the screen so noisy,
Something tells me I'm not on your photos,
The ones you collect so eager to handle
They're proof of how meaningless I am to you.

[in arroja, 26/20/2017]
Do you recognize my handwriting? Do you know its curves and swirls? Does my writing inspire you to create, to dream, to paint, to scream?

Each letter is drawn unconsciously: in my odd way of holding the pen, my thumb hugging it and the rugged feel resisting my grasp, I let the ink flow and suddenly - less than in a blink of the eye - the words are aligned with the atrophied thoughts that come down the brain through the arms and the veins, rushing ink elegantly on paper.

[in arroja, 26/20/2017]