segunda-feira, 26 de maio de 2008
You have hurt me to the quick, my brown eyes yell. You do not listen, do not want to. Why? Everyone has left and the theatre is empty. You take my hand and ask me to leave with you as well. But, nothing is more like that day you uttered I was marvellous: for what? For the ears? For the years that will never come, although I want them to, although I need them to. You have never run your fingers through my hair. You have never kissed me when I did not kiss you: you always received, you took everything and now I am empty. I do not know how to write anymore. I want you and all the tears of the wold fall. Will it stop? Please, make it stop. Come back with your fake smile, your silent words and nothingness. I need that.
domingo, 11 de maio de 2008
Like the clasping of a passionate lover, a flower turns its wings to the sun and follows the path of the stars that will definitely lead her to the milky way. A cow in a field blinks to a certain bug that bumps his head into a tiny gravel lost in the ground. The Earth breathes to the beat of the drums that keep on throbbing, bobbing, mobbing the lost souls of the Universe. While the movement fills out the air, I try to figure out the single particle that keeps on emitting love and affection, fancifulness and imagination, tenderness and more marvellousness than anyone. Will it be able to irradiate poisonous rays to the sun and make it bleed snails of desire? Nothing will ever be the same and different, because you are the beginning and the end to me, my hope and despair. Your hands were so strong when the screw hit the tip of your fingers every time you were on the brink of pulling them out. Divine pleasure the very thought of picturing something hurting you with all its strength and power: an objet, a rusty dangerous nail that reminds me of our interminable exchange of eyes colours and rainbows. Fishes swim in the room while your hands keep up with the hard work and your smile forever hidden to me. Music, here I go again, here I am again: I do not want to leave you, I have no desire to being nowhere far from you, but the sun? Remember the rays? Well, they are here every time I write. Maybe they'll warm my feet.