Nothing to say here

Talk

I don't wanna talk about it.
But there's no escape.
The only way to relieve this pressure on my chest
is to exploit what's underneath it,
Ask myself the questions I'm avoiding to answer.

What lies on the bottom of my heart?
And makes me breakdown and loose it?
What is it that keeps my conscience busy?
Makes me worry about this place stagnant
where I stand static?

I don't wanna talk about it.
Talking seems to make it all so real.
It takes away this vivid memory
of a perfect dream.
It makes me desperate, restless, anguished.
I wanted to seize it for a while longer.
Just for a while, before it's all over again.
But who saids I can?

Don't want to talk about it.
But can't help to think of this.
The thoughts come loose,
dazing through my mind.
I try to repress them, shudder them off,
focus on something else - but all's in vain.
The mind's alive and the conscience
has its own will, I can't control it.

-There's nothing to talk about, really.
Lier. You know talking is all there is to it.
And yet, you continue to refuse it.
So come on, keep up fooling them all,
but you won't fool me.

I'll just resume playing the same record,
over and over again,
Until you realize there's no point
in pretending not to know
all the lyrics to this songs.

Latest work...

Closeness

I'm standing alone in the dark
and you come asking me what to do.
-What can I do to make it better?
But I tell you it won't get better...
Can't you see it won't get better anyway?

-How can I make it work?
It won't work. Don't you see?
You can't help it... Nothing can.
It is stronger than I am.

I can't stop it. You won't stop it.
'Cause it's never gonna' stop.
-Are you sure?
Well... I don't know.
At least I don't think so.

It's just... Sometimes I can't let go.
Something won't let it get well...
And I can't explain what it is,
but I can't help it.
Somehow I increase it.

Actually, I don't want to be like this.
I wish it'd get better, but I can't. I won't.
I need this feeling to enter my skin
by the tips of my fingers.

Let it build up inside my body,
In a growth that will consume my entire soul.
Until I haven't reached that place,
where the air is so heavy it's unfit for breathing,
I will never be able to open my self up againg.

Closeness is the idealized object that crave,
the one that feeds my anguish, and I
don't think it will be easier on me no more.
How can it be, after I've experienced
such a sore burden for so long?
How can I hope to feel good about this,
when all I can receive is this empty nothingness?

I've found and lost some part of me. A part that's
external to my body, in wich I rediscover myself.
It renewed me. I could, at last, apreciate all of mine intricacy.
But all of this was taken away from me.

It ripped my guts into pieces. There's nothing left of it.
Only this invisible hole within me.
That keeps slowly bleeding and bleeding...
Painfully tormented. With no one to mend it.
All I want is to put an end to it.

A clowdy rainy mardy tuesday's result.

Nothingness

The closeness to the nothingness is growing faster and faster. Emptyness is the medicine for a harmed heart that will always die hard.
I try to prevent it. I try to keep up with it. I try to fight it. But it's worthless - I always end up embracing it.

When it's too much, I can never have enough. When it's too scarce, I long just to have a spare. When I can't have it, all the world's too heavy. Everything's dim and everyone's done. I just wanna be alone.

Alone and shrunken. Just like a wanker. Feeling the numbness. Hearing the rain. Seizing the plain. Lifting the pain. Wondering and wondering it all over again.

-Could this be, yet again? Would it be the same?
It won't be the same. This can't be, again. Don't you understand?
But I don't. I can't...
-I ain't!
I should never loose faith. 'Cause stop beliving is stop existing.

Saindo da fossa...

Cliff Jumping

Is it wrong
Wanting to do absolutely nothing at all?
Anything to keep myself
In a warm and endearing numbness
Made out of flat lies
To disguise me of the iminent throuth

Shouldn't I wish to stand still
For as long as it takes
To feel normal again?

Sleeping and waking up
Only when I know
It is all right?

Or do I have to hit bottom
To be able to climb
All the way to the top again?

When you're standing in the edge of the cliff
Wondering if it's worth it to jump down,
And face your deepest fears,
How can you hope for better days?
How could you dream it would all go away?

But when all of your most desperate prayers
Seem not to have found any answers,
When the dephts of the abyss are looking more
And more appealing to you,

Look for whatever streanght
Your chest has left
And try to remmember:

This too
Shall pass

Quebrei a perna de novo e escrevi mais um poema em inglês.

Repressed depression

Never stopping indifference
Felt by an unfulfilled life of misery.
Terrible numbness put in face of
An agonizing pain.
Unaccomplished expectations of
My crippled future.

It was an unjust punishment
For what hadn’t been done
Filled with the irregular suffering
Of a burden that wasn’t meant to be.

Got no place to go,
No one to turn to,
Nothing to do or feel.
Not a word to say.
Not a thing to think.

I’m drowning in an ocean of emptiness.
Floating through a never ending pathway
Lost in dead ending labyrinths
Trapped in long corridors of guilt.

I live a life of drams undreamt
Feelings unfelt
Choices not chosen
Thoughts unthought-of

All I should hope for is to fall down into everlasting oblivion
Dive in a whole sky of unrecognized senses
And reach the depths of my own soul.

For I would rather spending a lifetime of feelings unfelt
In my recreated superficial world
Over living a long lasting cold and lonely season
Watching all my dreams fading away.

Poema em inglês. É, eu também gosto de escrever em inglês.

Ethereal

I try not to be like this
But I can't control it.
Try to keep my mind off you
But it isn’t easy.
Try not to become the person
That I know I am.

Try not to think,
Not to look,
Not to feel,
But it's too hard.

It’s hard to think of you
Without remembering yesterday.
Hard to look and don’t see
You with her.
Hard to feel good about this
After what we've been through.

Can’t take you off my mind.
Can no more feel all right.
Won't let it be -
Can't live like this.

I won't be with you anymore,
But can't be without you either.
Don't know what to do,
To think, to see,
To feel.

So lost and confused,
Don't know if it was real.
I'm just sorry for what could've been.
Sorry for missing a good thing.
Time is so volatile and ethereal,
And I don't know what was actually real.

Feito na aula de Filosofia

Percepção Sensível (ou Idéias Platônicas)

Momentâneas e fúteis
São as sensações.
Uma multiplicidade
De unidades,
Todas diferentes
Entre si.

Identidades distintas
De sensações advindas -
Qualidades supérfulas -
De uma percepção sensível.

A perfeita imperfeição
Das propriedades dos objetos.
A inatingibilidade incorpórea
Do eterno plano das idéias.

Ó, Platão, o que será de ti sem a mundana percepção sensível?

Estarás tu, hoje,
Mais próximo que nós
De tuas puras idéias,
As essências das coisas?
De teu mundo ideal?