the good times are killing me

happy new

stress

hope this year i get

drunk

and laid

vices and virtues/whatsapp messages

some guy wanted to 

get near me and I just 

yanked away, scared

then I wonder why I never got a date.

jesus I'm scared of humans.

the rest doesn't keep me sleepless.

only humans,

humans and their skin, their stubbles

and germans;

humans and their tvs,

their broken ankles,

their reproductive apparatus,

their thirst for young blood;

humans and their devices,

humans being deceived,

collective, massive,

and alone.

in shopping centres,

on the phone,

at school,

inside a bathroom 

behind closed doors.

I'm scared of people and 

their misconceptions,

of people and their quickness to judge,

their intolerance for the weaker, the stronger, or the stranger.

I like their art, I like their music and 

their buildings, I like their pets

and their books. 

I like humans who do not like humans,

who help me comprehend that 

it is normal to be one

and hate oneself

all the same.

I like their drugs, their deadly vices

their pleasures and their myths,

their wars and stories, but not in action.

inmortalized for the sake of sanity, for

my own understanding and observation.

I could go on, on and on,

but seemingly I'm not the only one

and nobody cares.

I guess I'll wait for him to text again.

there is no rest

fuck new years resolutions,

they almost never work.

you know what doesn't work?

people who think they have it all figured out.

I wished for this new times to come

to be quieter; but

hey!! look at me. the road is full of bumps

I have hit head against the wall but

I've never broken it,

you know they say 

you should make mistakes in high school

but I'm not really sure that works a lot.

(well because I didn't make enough.)

I'm trying you see,

to get better.

to leave this addiction to

hatred and 

hopelessness.

but I guess it's my style

my type.

correlating

degree after degree

average after average

inside, all inside

take it all in,

stan still to all jokes

degree after degree

i'll keep degrading

i'll keep fading

even if i wanted to write a song

all the names i come up with

will be useless

for my mind is blank

i fill the space between my hands

with rust and pencils

will it work?

i don't know

i'm not gettjng any happier

nor any thinner

a different class

it's only been a week

but it feels like a truck

ran over me

it's only been five days

and i'm already questioning all my

thoughts,

all the people i thought

i knew so well.

sometimes i start to think

that i have made the wrong choices,

proving people wrong

has been the hardest task

i have ever accomplished.

i feel like i have no willpower

i wish this feeling stays

people like me better

when i shut up

i am tired all the time.

i see no beauty in no eyes.

there is no spark. just light,

buses trains and heat.

i can't get out.

young turks

i'm still thinking about

yesterday.

i couldn't look 

at him in the eye.

i don't remember what he looked like.

he liked me but

i think i screwed up in some way?

at least he

took it slow

ugh i'm so bad at this

last night

i was a little 

disappointed because

the only people i wanted to see

last night weren't there.

i met a guy who kissed me

and left me smelling like him,

but there was shame in the 

way you looked at me.

this guy was nice and

he took things right and slow.

but i would have rather had you

sloppy, fast and wrong

but there was no use.

i still had fun.

thoughts about graduating

it's true,
i had time to fix it but i think
i was too scared to stop
waiting for the future to happen.
all my life i wanted to take
the teen years by storm,
and now they are gone.
i don't feel like i've wasted my time,
but the feelings have changed,
i can't sing,
can't dance,
can't write,
or say what i feel.
i don't understand
why i spent so much time
with people who have hurt me
repeatedly.
i shouldn't have been me to
become who i am today,
sure.
probably 12 yo me
is still crying in the corner.
it took me five years to
learn how not to cry.

it's true,
i could've been so much
more than i am.
i haven't tried to be invincible
and mom is proud of that.
but am i?

guess this life has
just begun.
at least i haven't started
smoking yet.

drunk poetry slam at 2:00

its like you talk to
me like you knew what
went on in my life but
you've barely scratched the surface;
talk drunk talk too much
but i still say what
i want to say
because i dont know
anybody like you
and the ones i dont know
are dead inside.
i want to go home before
i kneel down in surrender.
take me back to your
rusty hands,
i miss you.
fuck,
i do.
but will you ever
stop pretending to love me?
pretending to be drunk
is my best quality
i never fail
(sometimes i
dont distinguish
reality though)

long shots; not pints

there is a young disinterest
in the way you curve your back
or the way your neck bends
backwards when you laugh.
victim of chance, you keep on
taking shots in the dark.
and also taking shots
of crystal which will burn
us out,
I wonder how many times
you have been out,
out in cold alleys screaming
that the system will run
down on us.

(sometimes I consider
how much we are alike
but every trace
leads to nothing.)

there still so much in you
I haven't seen.
so much I can't reach.
there is so much I wanted to ask
about your life.
the people who talk
the less say the most sometimes.

there is a place
inside my head
I always go
but if I open up
I may fall
I'm scared I don't want this again
especially if there is no chance
you will feel the same.

now we'll be gone
part like total strangers.
because that is what school
does to us:
makes us strangers
monsters,
or ghosts.

guess you are
another long
shot?

To L.L. (Extract), Oscar Wilde

Well, if my heart must break

   Dear love, for your sake,

It will break in music, I know

   Poets' hearts break so

But strange that I was not told

   That the brain can hold

     In a tiny ivory cell

God's heaven and hell.

what we carry

I'm sorry lover
but we have no skin.
we shred apart
with any moving step.
it's magical; mystical
how we can't get to know
each other.
behind this torn skin
I carry stories.
you carry blank canvases.
I'm scared of changing
you in all of the wrong places.
our hands feel like rust;
I pick the scabs of the past
that won't heal.
when I wanted to disappear
there was a subtle touch
of dry lips
and I breathed in.
now I have to rethink
my choices.
you're my test.
I'm your teacher.

the story repeats itself.

seriously now

I'm scarless;
(indestructible,
infinite
strong.)

and I was never hurt
because I never let anyone
get near me-

flick your fingers
and watch me
d
  i
   s
    s
     a
      p
       p
        e
         a
          r

i'm tired

guess what came up-
I'm full of hate!

for a second I wondered why,
why would I feel so filled with rage.

it makes sense,
it does,
it does.

I try to fight it
but I only end up hating
myself.

I am infected
by a plague.
it's spreading,
it will spread.

honestly?
I never much wondered
why I felt sympathetic
towards sociopaths

guess I might
be one too.

november 6th, thursday

styrofoam boots / it's all nice on ice, alright

well all's not well

but i'm told that it'll all be quite nice

you'll be drowned in boots like Mafia

but your feet will still float like Christ's

and i'll be damned

they were right

i'm drowning upside down

my feet afloat like Christ's

i'm in heaven

trying to figure out which stack

they're going to stuff us atheists into

when Peter and his monkey laugh

and i laugh with them

i'm not sure what at

they point and say

we'll keep you in the back

polishing halos, baking manna and gas

well some guy comes in looking a bit like everyone i ever seen

he moves just like crisco disco

breath 100% listerine

he says looking at something else

but directing everything to me

ever time anyone gets on their knees to pray

well it makes my telephone ring

and i'll be damned

he said you were right

no one's running this whole thing

he had a theory too

he said that god takes care of himself

and you of you

it's all nice on ice alright

and it's not day

and it's not night

but it's all nice on ice alright

moving rooms

dead people in the closet
sick people in the bedroom
old bright pink dreamcatchers
bright new floors of pine wood

papers and dreams
scribblings, messages
and things that I can't get rid of
had drowned me

I cannot get rid of
whatever makes me sad
I can't get rid of the past
because the house is here to hunt

you can break it,
tear it, fix it,
build it from scratch
but just like the cat

                               it's kicking me out

custom concern

I don't feel at all
like I thought
and we're losing all touch
losing all touch
                       building a desert

street like war

I feared that the elevator
would shut off again
only this time with me inside.

the heat wave took
the city by storm
not ready to face
the sunday sun.

the street outside was
quiet; it smelled like oil,
pools (though there are none
around, I suppose it was my own desire),
cars' fumes and other
people's deodorant.

heat makes smell condense
and light up this particular
hot concrete scent
which I know so well.

inside the shop it was
quieter. it was a new shop
they sold ice cream. I guess
no one told them about
competitive pricing.

i heard a voice behind me say
"the war that lasted 30 years"
and I turned.
it was winston churchill on the
screen. I said aloud, "winston
churchill?"
and the guy behind the counter
smiled.

the street is quiet like
empty train stations,
a field,
a friend's old car with no stereo
a night alone.

the street is quiet like
it holds a secret.
maybe war is still going on.
who knows.

I'm just glad to be back
in the shadows.
I'm not buying ice cream
there again.

this began 3 years ago and he began 3 weeks ago

ugh if I could tell you just
how much he makes me want to
be fifteen again
time flies faster than the swallows

it's only been like
what
three years?
more or less?

I feel so
so much more
dead
than I did back then

“Among other things, you’ll find that you’re not the first person who was ever confused and frightened and even sickened by human behavior. You’re by no means alone on that score, you’ll be excited and stimulated to know. Many, many men have been just as troubled morally and spiritually as you are right now. Happily, some of them kept records of their troubles. You’ll learn from them—if you want to. Just as someday, if you have something to offer, someone will learn something from you. It’s a beautiful reciprocal arrangement. And it isn’t education. It’s history. It’s poetry.”

— J.D. Salinger, The Catcher in the Rye

all hail

all I ever wanted

was for you to be my king

but I guess there's no kingdom

where there is defeat

I wanted to give you

a millon roses

a thousand horses

and a soul to claim

but it was useless;

fighting against the will

of a few traitors

those which with blood in hands, stained

clothes

heart

mind

soul.

all I wanted 

was for you to be my cæsar

from the purest heart

be your greatest weakness

and now for the power

of a few more months

I'll lay down in spite

watching what was once mine fall apart

it takes one man

to build an empire

and it takes one man

to bring it down.

in my heart

I will always hold

the true weakness

of your soul.

I'll shall carry it with me

wherever I might go.

broken temple

this virtual, metaphysical 

touch feels less unique than

the spring/summer rain 

which fades faster than your will

to talk to me.

I play this game with

disgust and

though you feel like

everything is right

I don't ever want to talk

to you again 

and I don't think I'll

ever will.

just get away from

me please.

bring on the havoc

it is eight in the evening
and everyone is freaking out
over the phone.

chemicals, explosions,
names I can't pronounce
cloud up my head.

I'm too tired to
even think of getting up
tomorrow.

yesterday I slept less
than four hours
I'm pretty sure of that

and pretty girls didn't seem
that pretty and music
didn't seem so loud.

I'm pretty sure (also)
that my head has exploded.
I wonder what made it go off.

we are all so insane.
maybe it will last.
I hope so.

this house is no longer a home

    suddenly my dad had the decency to remind me how I had stripped down my room until no personality had been left in it. I used to hang a life up on the walls, lively encourage movement behind the closed door, maybe even act up daydreams but suddenly it all became quite a blur and I became a recluse to my mind. I remember how this used to feel not so long ago, but I can't grasp it, I can't handle it, I can't... 

                              it's not me anymore, it's not me. this house is no longer something I long. he's right, my room is white as a sheet, like me. it's dying, you see, it's dying slowly. 

                                how can you live when you are constantly terrified? of ghosts, of noises, of strangers. of tv in the middle of the night, of the subtle silences in the empty rooms left behind by those who can't love us anymore. tell me, seriously, where did you take the feelings we used to share a summer ago?

                                                                                                                              I know you feel the same way as me. not even the cat knows what's going on. can we stop pretending this is okay?

                                                   the house is kicking me out. it is. look at it. look at me. it's so cold. so cold...

maybe text instead

I am TERRIFIED

seriously I can't live

without being afrAID

I'm constantly hesitating and

over-thinking because I can't

pick up the phone.

there are people who need me

or maybe they don't but I should 

still talk to them-

who knows, I wish nobody needed me

ever

I am afraid of making a mistake

though I'm not making any

I'm terrfied

I can't sleep

help

I keep asking myself these questions

seriously,
I don't understand why
I consider myself tidy
or clean or organized.
I feel better when
there is a mess
in my hair
my room my house
my head and hands,
I feel protected.
I'm not in control
when I see the tiles on
the floor
when my hair is neat
when my paperwork is done.
I don't feel at ease.
maybe that is why
I keep creating
re shaping this mess
so I can put it back
like a little puzzle drawn
for kids like me, addicted
to feel like the world
has gone mad.

is there a name for
being addicted to
being
sad?

23:54

I should probably
hate you because
I can't sleep again.

but god knows
that I have been waiting
for someone like you
   to wake me up.

introduction to religion/the hostility of just not caring II

carved wood images
stare back at me like
the dead film
of the dead eye
of a dead fish.

maybe they are
judging my commitment
to this particular event

fuck it
whatever.
i can't care.

“Am I a good person? Deep down, do I even really want to be a good person, or do I only want to seem like a good person so that people (including myself) will approve of me? Is there a difference? How do I ever actually know whether I’m bullshitting myself, morally speaking?”

— David Foster Wallace, Consider the Lobster and Other Essays

name one war that didn't have a losing side

what the fuck is all of this
worth?
I keep my head down
    (facing a desk)
I arch forwards, moan and wail
I cry for injustice,
but I am never heard
we do not tremble
all in spite their efforts
the tables can't hold us back
but look at us
the soldiers you train
you keep us tame
and you want us to
learn not to be scared?

how will I ever find my own pace
if every step I take
is diminished by
my age?

we keep on fighting
through words; through numbers
they toss our will around.
who's playing after all?
nobody can win a fight like this

an empire of coins

and people’s voices talking and I marvel that they can get
        excited
and interested over nothing and I flick out the lights, I
crash out the lights, and I pull the shades down, I
tear the shades down and I light my last cigar imagining
the dream
     jump off the Empire State Building
             into the thickheaded bullbrained mob with the hard-on
        attitude.
already forgotten are the dead of Normandy, Lincoln’s        stringy beard,
all the bulls that have died to flashing red capes,
all the love that has died in real women and real menwhile fools have been elevated to the trumpet’s succulent
        sneer
and I have fought red-handed and drunkin slop-pitted alleys
the bartenders of this rotten land.

does your phone work?

I have been hungry
for an entire day
and I'm not enjoying it.
the lightbulb of my room
I have discovered
is the cause of the
sound
that doesnt allow me
to sleep
so lets check:
no eating
no sleeping.
good.

the woman on the
bus was reading
john green.
I liked john green until
freshmen started writing
quotes of his books
in bathroom stalls.
bathroom stalls,
like buses,
are sacred to me.
I am alone when I am not.

my sister has cancer.
I wore my flowery skirt again.
there was a warm breeze.
she cried because she
cant get out of
the hospital.
well, I don't think the
outside world
holds much good.
but I have not been
trapped in a hospital bed
for a month and
a half.

we watched v for vendetta
because it's my favorite movie.
my sister was still crying.
I wish I could start a revolution
against everything that causes her wrong
but I'm tied to behaving
and I'm tired of being strong.

I was still wearing my flowery skirt
when dad drove me home.
I talked about fallacies.
he blamed me for not being there
when my sister was diagnosed.

lets check again:
no sleeping
no eating
no forgiveness.

I arrived home
mum told me
the noise came from
the fan.
it had been on for
more than a month.
she said I could have
set the house on fire
or worse.

I feel so good right now
I could probably
write a book.

originality is dead

sorry son
I'm not proud to say
originality is dead
who am I to state?

your words are vain
despite your efforts
you are still a kid
lost in the summer rain

you want to get wet
feel alive
feel something
stand the fight

ideas are dead
drenched, vain;
stung with half-heard
comments from the outside with disdain.

maybe if you step
out of your glass cage
the world stops looking like a game
and forges its will upon you

sorry son,
originality is dead
I buried her years ago
in my head

it is time you surrender
and follow my path
after all this time
we can leave past behind.

c a r p e d i e m

I decided I don't want to be
stuck.
I've lived in the past
long enough
to see what
I'm missing out.
the present is
the most important thing
in this world
and I just can't believe
I've missed out
for so long
because now is all I have
and for nothing in this world
I will forget the past
but I won't let it make me.
I am nothing but the moment
I exist, the rest
is up to consideration.
I am everything,
I can be anything.
limits are infinite.

today (now!) was the moment
that I realised about the important
of the so clichéd phrase
"seize the day"
because the day is
a struggle,
night after night
and I'm not going to let it rest
if I can't leave the past behind.

this is the moment.
the only moment.

gone for days

for the past three nights
my theory has been proved.
I have found I don't
appeal to anyone; I'm not
saying that that is wrong,
but i have been rejected
two nights in a row.
my best friend
had the decency to
fuck the guy I liked
on my bed.
as if.
I have been drunk for the
past two days
and I just dont
want to go home.
now that I've touched you
now that I've danced with you
felt your body against mine
I can't believe
those are the lips I
cant touch.
I was never your friend
its true, I shouldn't care
but apparently
I do?

hey orpheus

We stood beside
A frozen sea
I saw you out
In front of me
Reflected light
A hollow moon
Oh Orpheus

Its over too soon

empty room

said your name
in an empty room
something I would never do

I'm alone again

when I'm by myself
I can be myself
and my life is coming
but I d o n 't k n o w w h e n

you were burning out,
you're black
and gray

something I
would
never
say

(I'm alone again)

wire your thoughts/brought down in line

you keep me shooting stars
you keep me falling back
with bodies all burnt
everything buried underground

now my life has overgrown
whatever kids said I could be
whatever mom thinks I want
nothing matters

falling back,
prisioner of your endless circle
the sparks flare, flowers whither and die

so will you
so will I
and any hope of mine
it will be lost at sea

with the moon and the stars
how you want it
how I want it,
who chooses where to stand?


I keep
shooting at
stars,

and failing
to aim
at your heart

Myles, the archetype

There are lots of superficial archetypes in the same room. Adolescence itself gives way to their formation: we all need labels. 

Myles was exactly that. 

Sonnets, William Shakespeare (extract)

When forty winters shall besiege thy brow

And dig deep trenches in thy beauty's field,

Thy youth's proud livery, so gazed on now,

Will be a tatter'd weed, of small worth held:

Then being ask'd where all thy beauty lies,

Where all the treasure of thy lusty days,

To say, within thine own deep-sunken eyes,

Were an all-eating shame and thriftless praise.

countdown

I feel like I should detach
from all the friends I've made
from all the people who've wronged me
from all the people I've failed

this could be dangerous and foolish
but I feel it is the only way I can go.

my reasons are pure
I know I am sad
and I don't want it to show.

and also because
I can be blind to other people's
happiness when I haven't
got my own.

it won't be permanent
at least it's not intended now
I'll see what happens
maybe I will reach out

in two weeks I've changed
a little, but enough
to know that maybe
this is not what I want.

so I'll swim in my
inner sea
against the tide and wind
maybe there I'll be free

and I will finally learn
how to forgive.

slowly mutating to tumblr now!

click click click

why am I laughing. I shouldn't be laughing

If I go on complaining like this
I'll waste what I have left of this life

look at me, here I am
drunk at eleven p.m.
complaining about blue eyes
loving green, not mine

which is fine
by the way I'm not hurt
I'm just
yeah
well
I don't
well maybe I'm hurt

why complain?
jesus, times will sure
be bright ahead
you won't define me
neither will she

(though it does feel
like a stab in the back
ha)

why do I laugh

wow I'm such an asshole
and I am surprisingly okay with it
ha

season finale

I constantly dream
of skipping school.
take the bus
at the exact same hour
but get off somewhere else.
then I'd take the subway
let it take me
buy some cigarettes-
then maybe
go down to the river
and smoke until
ten a.m.
when the sun
has already risen.
then go back
to town
and explore
a park
or maybe just
another record store.
take pictures on my phone
then have some lunch.
maybe go stare
at the statues
of people who've done better
than me.
I would bring clothes to
disguise-
try not to cross
my parent's paths.
I could even go
to the movies
or maybe just
not get anything at all.
disappearing when
everyone wants me there
will be the grand closure
to this awful act.

yes.
this would be incredibly nice.

I saw a picture of you and laughed

I wanted to write
about the adventures we never had.
sometimes I think you are
the perfect example of both
society
and obsession.
your sister talks to me
and it hurts.
not because I miss you
but because of
who I was.
I wanted to write
about us.
guess us will never be.
I don't miss anything
because that me is
buried.
I wonder what
happened to the
you I fell for.
he's probably dead,
crushed by long nights,
sex, drugs, alcohol
and parties you won't remember.
like me, maybe.
who knows if you were troubled?
I think I saw a spark some time ago.
the one that made me fall so deeply.
I don't love you but
my last wish would be
to get to know
you, at least.

thoughts of you/b line

how can I even
try?
jesus do you even
get my demons?
this is a big city
and I can't be
waiting
for you to appear
at every corner.
this anxiety will
eat me away
and I can't deal with
it.
I should be happy
right now.
I should leave you
(and thoughts of you)
alone.
maybe in that way
you won't come back.

what if what I feel
reached you every
night?

the pleasures of the damned

the pleasures of the damned
are limited to brief moments
of happiness:
like the eyes in the look of a dog,
like a square of wax,
like a fire taking the city hall,
the county,
the continent,
like fire taking the hair
of maidens and monsters;
and hawks buzzing in peach trees,
the sea running between their claws,
Timedrunk and damp,
everything burning,
everything wet,
everything fine.

ugh/regret

sorry

I am sorry 

for all the things I haven't done

for taking things too far

for overreacting over the end

for thinking you were an exception

I don't know what was going on that afternoon

but I just

the memory of your smile

makes me wonder every night

if I what I did was right.

you looked so proud.

now you just look like

you want me to shut up.

but then again you don't

I don't get it I don't get it

what's going on between us?

who are you?

you know what makes me sleepless?

the things I said to you

nothing else

not even regret

I don't have regrets

that are not for you

that sucks

I love you so much

shit

the hostility of just not caring/religious ways

the preachers have been promising us

more than we could bare to hear.

in town this men and women

are nothing like the ones we are used to.

if it was my mistake

or the lord's mistake

I don't care.

ignorance is bliss.

the only thing I appeal to

in religion

is forgiveness.

what I need, and I just can't have.

my intentions are pure.

but who's got more authority

over my will

than my own ethics?

there's no forgiving to

my love.

I beg, for my life,

your acceptance.

my mistakes are solely

reflections of

the rage I have

to struggle with inside.

there's no control when

the human (or animal) instinct kicks in.

I'm just trying not to be

the weakest human being.

if someone was judging me,

oh I'd be to blame.

but the self inflicted damage

is already more than I can bare.

chinaski was right/whiplash

when t.v. shows had finally bored me

and I had no other games left to play,

the boredom hit me like a whiplash.

I went up through the corridor

and walked down the fake wooden floors.

the light was on,

though flickering.

I wasn't going to bother 

I wasn't going to change the lightbulb.

I turned on a desklamp 

and glanced back

at the glossy pages

of a business book.

I glanced down at my box of matches

and the remedy bottle.

for a second, 

a fraction of time,

I realised I was very sad.

I am very, terribly, uncontrollably sad.

I just can't see why.

skies bore me

rain bores me

sunshine bores me

you bore me.

boredom is the saddest of emotions.

how am I incomplete?

how are my self preservation standards 

so ruined?

I just really want to damn it all

and call you up-

I can't.

I am too sad

and so are you.

we live our sad little lives

through plastic books

and dirty geography texts.

I live for the strategy and the humour,

I just don't know what you live for.

everyone thinks I am pissed off

but I'm just truly

tired of it all.

maybe Chinaski was right

in feeling miserable

all this time.

misery 

brings

my existence

back into

pages.

the first ambiguity/efforts

everything is very cold now
no matter how hard I can try
I can't express how I feel
it's making me feel opressed

my hands are turning blue now
it's the chill which takes my will
I can barely move my fingers now
but everthing is quiet and still

nothing good
ever came
from people who don't
try hard

if I could comb back
my efforts
it'll be fine

the wind moves
like a ticking clock
slowly freezing me down
next to nothing

if I didn't
move fast enough
there would be no miracles,
my life would be... a bore

i used to hallucinate

i used to break walls and
sometimes bleed.
I look in mirrors;
I can't see

all I can appreciate
is tight skin
red face
tired eyes

I'd jolt for nothing
you would look at me
puzzled and bewildered
mostly, scared

because I saw
nightmares full of bugs
and people
crashing into cars

it's not there
it's not there
I never tell people
I never stay

let's just run away
I'm too tired
of thinking straight
where's my blanket?


if only
medicine
could make my
life better

wood platforms/smoke outside churches

well I hope they got something better
along the lines of "I'll be there"
smoking outside churches
and just generally not knowing anything

there's this strange blur
no way, I can't shake the fear from my bones
god's chill, god's will
god almighty, god won't save you

we've been fighting for centuries
there's just one struggle one can't win
I just hope that when they look at themselves in the mirror
in the morning there will be no need of sin

this accidents don't seem to happen
can we kill the soul inside them?
who will lose the faith three
days from now?

what a way to begin
the weekend

asylum dogs

are we fighting heat

or are we just trying to

close the door down

on our on demons?

your darkness is not calming.

it's dull, boring.

you are the act I have seen

five hundred times on screen.

how can you manage

this insane de-humanization

and can't handle

a simple life intervention?

check who pulls back

the strings around your hands.

see if the shadow you saw as yours

starts answering back.

if you can't live without a mask

it seems pretty clear to me

you can't stand your scars.

you don't know who you are.

possum

drown me young, I
have not seen a person
in this world saying
life is worth living

drown me young, for
you are my only escape
and without you
there's nothing to take

who sees behind the broken
glass, the earth and the sun?
I haven't seen much yet,
and it's probably enough

we are what we breed
I'm terrified of the future, please
kill me,
before it happens that I leave

a trail that carries
whatever I believe in
a mind that embraces
the rage inside me

what will be the image?
the long lost faith
I once had
exhausted in my own hands

who sees behind the broken
glass, the earth and the sun?
I haven't seen much yet,
and it's probably enough

I don't need a life

if it's not with you

my hands are tied.

drown me young.

drown me young.

drown me young.

the same old query

why do you love him?

asking someone to describe love is as useless as asking a cat why it likes to eat fish. it is in fact, and in counter position to common beliefs, and inhuman concept. love, in all of its forms, is not a thing. is a feeling. therefore, it can't be materialized. it has no ends and probably no beginnings. 

love gestates before blossoming into the world, since when it is not, it hurts and makes the carrier think life without love is not worth living. it is a concept that I, with time and knowledge and probably some practical experience, will be able to deconstruct and define to my own needs. but the subjectivity of this possessive, obsessive, sickening behaviour makes it almost impossible for me to answer your question. 

I love him because he's been there when I couldn't see him, and then my life forced me to see him. and love was inside me, this adoration, admiration, everything mixed with a growing fear. it was the thrill of thinking that loving someone like him would give me a reason to keep up with the routine, or give in to a little more effort. 

if I fit them in this cold, deliberate frame, then my reasons for loving can be seen as completely materialistic and banal. they are not, believe me. I can't say for certain that I am in love, but surely it's something like it. 

it's something that brings me to stand up every time I want to leave and tell myself I can go through a little bit more. it's the force that brings me out of bed in order to see his face. the force that brought me into this intriguing world of arts, even if he is the less artistic person I have ever met. we are so completely different, so outdated and miscalculated, but we depend on each other in a complicated manner. and him needing me is the best thing I can ask for. all my life he's made me feel useful. and I think loving him is the only way in which I can return his adoration.

do yourself a favor, well no, do me a favor. 

never ask anyone again why they love anyone.

not unless you're in for psychological shit.

or unless you're ready to face the consequences of being exposed to the pulp and flesh of individuals, which is in all of its forms, extremely touching.

light the torch

maybe if I
hadn't been so
dependant
and needy for
attention when I was
at my weakest
I wouldn't have
let you scar me
so bad.
you probably
remember how
you opened up to me,
well let me tell you
your carcass broke and
I know who you are,
behind that darkness
you pretend so well
you're the weakest
fakest
person I've ever known

and I loved you anyway
I admired you anyway
but took the chance
and didn't follow you
anywhere

sowing season

was losing all my friends

was losing some to drinking

some to driving

was losing all my friends

but I got them back

the devil and god are raging inside me

my mom
says it's wrong
to take revenge
or pay back with what
you were given.
but I do disagree.
and she said
that that's my dad's side.
her side is
apparently more
sensitive,
kind,
and humble.
all the things
I know I'm not.
she says that
my "dad's side"
kicks in
when I get angry
or I don't want to apologize.
in all,
she guesses my flaws
are because of my dad.

maybe I
have the 
devil and god
raging inside
me?

she said no.
there is no god
or devil.
just pure
fucking
genetics.

blind sides

why am I so

damned intelligent

if I can't even

place my feelings right

the arrogance

coexisting inside me

takes over the little

sensitive parts I had left.

if I just didn't 

feel the need

to be the best

all the damn time

I'd care

not even as half

as much as I

care now.

about anything at all.

you, exams,

your friends,

lovers;

or my lovers.

or maybe the people

I should care about:

like my friends

my family

and my cat.

Rain, Edward Thomas

Rain, midnight rain, nothing but the wild rain
on this bleak hut, and solitude, and me
Remembering again that I shall die
And neither hear the rain nor give it thanks
For washing me cleaner than I have been
Since I was born into this solitude.
Blessed are the dead that the rain rains upon:
But here I pray that none whom once I loved
Is dying tonight or lying still awake
Solitary, listening to the rain,
Either in pain or thus in sympathy
Helpless among the living and the dead
Like a cold water among broken reeds,
Myriads of broken reeds all still and stiff,
Like me who have no love which this wild rain
Has not dissolved except the love of death,
If love it be for what is perfect and
Cannot, the tempest tells me, disappoint.

at the bottom

the thing
with normal people is
that they are not
like me.

I like to know things they don't.

I know this
because when I
try to talk about things
that interest me
they all walk away.

they think I'm weird
and that's okay,
because I am.

I know why I'm like
this:
I
get
bored.

trivialities
and generalisms
are not my thing.

(apart from the fact
that I don't like doing
whatever it is conceived
as "normal")

I get bored easily
and they don't.
and that's amazing,
I envy them.

I try to be normal
I've tried this month
and I just got angrier
with the world.

I can't stay
in the surface
when I've seen
what lies at the bottom.

I'm sorry
and I hope you understand
my other side.

vaccum heart and smoke spirals

yes
the same lonely heart
lives on
only now through
parties
and promises of
love
of long lost friends
and chains of smoke.
I never stopped
feeling lonely,
after all
I already know who I am,
but the passing of time
will not change my mind
it can change my
hairstyle my clothes
my friends
but it will not change
who I am
the sadness in the night
still hunts me down
and I try to fight
but after all these years
I'm worn out
and maybe it's the promise
of a good time
which helps me
live on with
the sadness inside.

the pope and the booze

I was dressed as
donnie darko
and sat
down next to
a guy dressed
like the pope.
hed been drinking
and so had I.
but by the time I sat
by his side
you were getting
lucky by the pool
and I was sober.
the pope and I talked
about time travel
and someone I didn't know told me
there is no
such thing as
too much booze.
the pope left
and so did you
and your girl.
but I remained
here thinking
about
space
time travel
and chance.
I think I
know who you
are already.
the night
is your
worst enemy
and my best
friend.

black/white

can't you see
you're standing
in my light

the little reflectors
behind the
concrete walls
they caress me

I feel no heat
no solace
no contempt
when you
stand in front of them

can't you see
there's is no more
white light
for me

the only one

I'm so wrapped up in a daze

Hoping this is just a phase

But when all is said and done

I know you are still the one

You're the only one

You're the only one

Cupid's bow it stung

Now you're the only one

dust on the trunks

you what
fuck this shit
I don't care if you refuse to talk to me
until graduation
I'm happier this way
I'll dance my ass off with
the guy who's been
my "friend" all this time
I'll film videos with your
friends and
play piano until
I get all of
arcade fire's songs right
I will read all the books I haven't
I won't
I won't
watch the tv series you told me to watch
or read the book you gave me


but this is no promise
I make no promises
this is just
a necessary change
in the course of action

millionaires do not hit me

a debate opens
and someone says
"millionaires do not hit on
their children because
they have money."
well babe I'm
no millionaire but
I'm sure my basic needs
are more than covered.
and I'm also sure
that though my physique
remains intact
my own family
tells me
I have mental issues.
that I'm an idiot.
that I'm to blame.
that I'm not capable of
doing things because
I'm fat. or way too anxious.
and when
I tell them
I suffer from domestic violence
nobody cares
because
they have never seen me
with a broken arm.
or a violet eye.

I wonder if they
ever saw
the scars on my wrists
or the bags under my eyes
or whatever is
it I do
to punish myself.

but millionaires do
not hit on their children.
they give you money, honey.
and that's from where
you buy your drugs.

maybe it's the same.

rules to live by

1. never trust your leaders
2. don't do to others what you don't want them to do to you
3. don't make promises
4. everyone will let you down
5. if you lose, you're doing it wrong

offfffffffff

I decided
I need a new hobby.

something like
knitting or
a book club.

something that
just doesn't involve
love.

I am done
with all relationships.

and open grounds.
mosquitoes suck.

you could really use a shrink

my dad
broke up with his girlfriend
and she
and my step sister
left.
he lost contact with his family:
his father
his mother
the woman who cleaned the house quitted.
but he lost me a long time ago.
he lost everyone
who cared about him.

at least he's still got a job.

now the house is a mess.
the cat barely gets fed.
we barely talk.

the icing on the cake was
the two month voyage
across the
atlantic ocean.

he lost it all
when he was about to achieve
his dream.
he traded it all
for a caprice.

I think is a tragedy
but as far as I am
concerned
this tragedy is not mine.
thus
I
can't
care.

it's selfish
but true.
when you step out
of your box
there are worse
tragedies
than yours.

but I don't need
to know that.

maybe it's
for self-preservation.

(but everything I do
is for self preservation:
not getting angry
lacking sympathy
and empathy
being absent
being omniscient
and really
just not giving
a fuck.)

I wonder if he's having
fun
in
Morroco.

oh the irony

after years and years and

years of 

being forgotten

everytime I went back

to a place 

and because of 

my nomad

nature

I learnt

how to 

disappear.

it's funny

because I can

sense

the breaking point

in any relationships 

I have.

I can't accept

breaking apart from 

things,

and if I do

I do it abruptly

and I hurt

everyone.

and I gain

enemies.

and everyone

is disappointed

in my inconsistencies.

so am I,

believe me.

after

so many loved ones

I left behind

I sense

goodbye handshakes

and heart breaking

speeches and

hugs which

will never be the same.

life is always

changing

around me

and if I had

to live with

my past

I would be 

dead already.

that's why

I disappear

from resposibilities

and maybe

that's also why

I can't

apologize.

the soul of man under socialism

one
will live.

to live is
the rarest
thing in the
world.

most people
exist,

that is
all.

build/unbuild

while I laid there
the sheets came undone
entangled in the nightmares
I was woken up by thunder.

the eyelashes
struggled to
move apart

I found I was just laying
alone
in the sheets
cold
and the room was darker than your eyes.

I had nightmares in which
your stare pierced more than any weapon
but it was vacant, drained.
how can I tear apart the fiction?

it's inside me
it's eating me
the frustration
the fear

it takes decades
to build an empire
and it takes a man
to bring it down

my chest struggles to breathe
I try to put the covers back
in place but I can't sleep
anymore; I was woken up
by the thunder

in my head
it rains
all the time

auto-boycott

I try to be strong you know
and you just love to put up the fight
it gets tiring to wake up in the morning
and have nothing to get up for

I try, I try so fucking hard
to bear in mind
that I'm doing all of this
to keep you out of my heart

I try, but your waves are so strong
you crash me, crash me,
every day,
and almost every night.

and you know you could've
just said 'no'
and it'd been alright for me
but oh how you like to claim your prizes

am I?
am I your victory?
did you manage to rule me over?
or is this a tide?

I will always wonder
until the day you realize
you always run from your problems
and you'll make up your mind

I guess that's why I became a diver

how can people stay in shallow waters
when the deepest
darkest
part of the ocean
holds the richest
most intriguing
parts?

how can you be contempt with
a minor fraction
shared with everyone
a tiptoe
into what the universe
and the world
actually are?

yes
you can get lost in the depths
but you can also
find yourself

bcms

we both try so hard

to win and

we always lose but

it's not like we lost 

our lives or something

and it's so crazy to think

we are so tied

that when I lose

you lose

when I win

you win

wherever I go

you are there

we are always

proving the same point

spotlight

why do I have to talk so much?
why do trust the wrong hands
wrong faces
wrong people?

why do I feel the constant need to
make everyone know about
how I feel inside?
I wish I could shut up

and stop craving attention

(but
it's like
once you have it
you can't let it go)

comment found in my IGCSE Env. Management book

I'm so tired and helpless. I cannot help but think this is a mere obligation and not what I asked for. I'm interested in things I do not know about. I'm writing someone else's words, not mine. I can always pretend I stole somebody else's idea and it's completely okay

oblivious

I'm just trembling

at the mere thought

that you might let me down

#445

you don't have breakfast or lunch
drink beer from a bottle from three weeks ago
never bother to set the dishwasher
never bother flies fly around
the
dead carcass of
the animal
you weren't supposed to keep in open grounds
you cover your filth with a cloth
you cover yourself with clothes
there's absolutely no difference
between inert
and (sometimes, arguably)
alive

in the aeroplane over the sea

what a beautiful face
I have found in this place
that is circling all round the sun
and when we meet on a cloud
I'll be laughing out loud
I'll be laughing with everyone I see
can't believe how strange it is to be anything at all