o movimento do entre pelo tempo e pelo espaço, onde cada palavra é figura esburacada, e o rosto de ninguém expande ao infinito.

segunda-feira, 21 de setembro de 2015

I cannot hear your voice speaking freely
From a hated heart hurt and
Irresponsibly about words as if it
Was easy with an speachy actitude too
Incisive not seing my poems with
Unnoficial sentences and its huge
Importance as Language Failing
And I provoque you and I stand
Against your little world and I
I am going after your tail for
You to feel dislocated for your
Sad truth to crash behind
My ruins - wich are at least
Truely reacked, and I dont belive
There is a voice inside of me
I am no one to see I cant
Separate my words from confusion
(And neither can you)
But you lie to us in our
Face and spit on it and
Cant look at us because
We are your mirror.
We make you feel small
With your little hand victimized.

I am not your victim, I am
My own peron - a beautifull
Destructive opened chest
Accepting my ruined skin at the step.
You are gonna die too.

Good. Embrace your pain,
I hope you feel it deep.
I am on your track
I am not gonna let sufocating
Intentional masks fall on my
Garden with its worms.

And your glancing at my head lowered
To my words that means nothing.
I cant see because i dont need to,
I hear yout lying speach...
Lies and work not being made
And I am not getting intoxicated
Because I accept meaningless I see
My words are forgotten I have no
Attachment to my figure
That only matter
When I am your mirror.

I am not going to look at you
At this point there are only pronoms
And indirect speach will not belong
To my Universe anymore for longer
Than this moment.

Id reather write and let your
Missunderstanding without recognition
On my face, on the cracks and
Imperfection, Id reather refugiate
From your agressive paradoxes.

I am not a dreamer, because I face my
Failure right here.
This is something else, the big
Imense abyss
Between our words and faces
This is the bridge on my
Words carring your
Lack of amplitude
There is not a way to reach
A connection - I am not listening to you

(But I have to write out my sad
Presence - a body standing in front
Of you as a ghost with flesh
And organs visible.
I have a heart and an absolving stomach
Not believing your offensive
Position menacing and forgeting your part.

But I am learning to search alone
And my way is only.
You cant keep believing people are not
Alive, Language is living
And transformation, a river flowing
All the time you cant stop or
Contain - But become.
There is no one here: I am many and
All my words are infinite.

I am going to get pass your
Whit bullshit
Unconsidering rules
Hollow speach
Trying to convince with
Lies that cant reach me
As your ugly mirror
You are afraid of.

“He who mocks the Infants Faith
Shall be mocked in Age and Death.”

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