Fri 02:08

to ouvindo música há 12h
esse vento podre n pode mais me infectar
eu to tomando antibiotico
a vida normal é bem distante do que te venderam

love

few things in the world will capture you just to let you go unharmed

o meu amor é o teu cavalo
e o teu amor é o meu açoite

eu não sou o teu amor

weird bits

i'd rather dissolve than be ignored by you, you uttered before vomiting by the sink, all the things that were inside you coming out at once, the words, the pieces of left over pasta you had for dinner, the love, oh the love... 

soft meat for lazy butchers

soft meat for lazy teeth

brand new start

There were two things I should have said at the time, but I didn't. The first one was "I am sorry, let's start over" and the second one was "fuck you".

cerveja, gala, fumaça

a solidão é uma coisa muito grande velho, e a gente engole todo tipo de coisa pra não ser engolida por ela.

i am here to return this calendar, it is broken, the days are dilated, 

true love wails

this is the story of how the wings grew and we couldn't fly out of fear, this is the story that came crawling out of your throat on a feverish night,
here are the details we promised never to tell each other again, but they have outgrown me, so this is also the chronics of defeat

you were bleeding through your legs and i said "let me take a picture of this" and you said it was ok, as long as it never made part of our novel, furthermore we would bleed so much none of us could speak again,
there was a loose tooth on one of the pages, there were people on the street proclaiming holy words and all i could think of was the memory of me naked on your damp bathroom floor, the windows so far i could swear death was a myth, and yet

death came to us on a tuesday afternoon, like bills swept under the door, when i asked you "what time is it?" and you were too busy to answer, and the shaky hands of the clock shrieked in dizziness, and every fifteen minutes the church bells would ring, the king is dead, the king is dead, true love wails through the walls, bouncing off my chest like a firework accident.

oblivion

it is not to forget, it is not to stop memories from coming to the surface of your coffee in the morning, it is not to successfully avoid, not to bury in a distant soil
because when you bury, there are still the left overs to rot and be found
when you avoid, there is still the cold wind behind carefully closed, hermetically sealed doors

i forgot how to write my name so i could no longer remember yours, since we shared some of that, and yet

oblivion didn't come.

i drowned my sorrows in the pacific, i cleaned my body with boiling bleach, you could never find yourself in here anymore, and yet

eventually the land moves and nobody knows why, it makes me  believe earthquakes are the bodies of the dead shaking off forgetfulness.

last time i saw richard

come tuas negas, enfia cada um dos teus dedos nelas pensando em mim, o indicador que me apontou pela primeira vez onde tu morava, lá no fim dele tá a projeção da minha língua, estão minhas unhas roídas. e depois. olha pros pés com vontade de um cigarro, se convence que não, é apenas vontade e não um vicio, se convence que esse cheiro úmido na ponta dos dedos te salva de tudo que não está aqui, qualquer gosto é melhor que o azedo do refluxo ansioso passeando pela tua garganta.

elas gozam e isso te preenche, não é mesmo? elas gozam e você risca mais um traço na parede, elas gozam e é mais uma marca no corpo para contar a história de quando você estava bem. 

nas festas, eu aponto pro meu peito e digo, rindo "é aqui que o amor vem pra morrer."

no banheiro, você escova o gosto de hoje com a minuciosidade de um criminoso, "preciso fazer espaco para um novo desapego"

e crava na gengiva um fio dental mentolado.