segunda-feira, 26 de janeiro de 2015


People don't understand why I shrink myself,
Why I look like I'm trapped in a comfy ball,
Why I chose to not go, why I chose to not pursue life
And instead, I lay down in the bed looking for reasons to not exist.
When you are in my condition you basically have three options:
One is - you go literally crazy, spreading, shouting words to the unknown
Painting your house at 4 am, fast speech of the light
Embracing your body like you are motherfucking piece of art
Creating and producing everything you didn't do for the last six months
Because you were in the fase two.
The fase two consists basically in crying yourself to sleep every fucking day,
Searching every type of suicide on the web
Hitting on your boyfriend because he doesn't loves you,
But he really does, but you don't believe it how someone can love such a mess.
People are following you...
You are being followed by the fucking air, by your fucking shadow.
Eventually you get tired of this situation and there's when you get to fase three,
Where you literally give up... You dont' dress to impress
You dress because it's there,
You don't eat because you are hungry, you eat because it's there
You only go out because that's what is supposed to do.
Everything is not great but nothing is miseareble,
You couldn't care less.
Your friends are ending college
You are trapped in a non being, netflix all the day.
They tell you should do projects and appreciate life
But when you were literally the most happy person on earth
When you could touch the sky and say I am god!
They were the first ones to put you in the hospital
Because there is no such thing as too much happiness…
When you were paitning canvas with your own blood,
Collecting your tears to make a real river,
Following your own projects,
They were the first ones who said you should fucking sheer up!
Art doesn't have to be so macabre,
Your life doesn't have to be like the passion of christ!
And then that's when it hits you!
It hits you that you can no longer persue your pourpse,
Because that means,
You are going insane.

domingo, 25 de janeiro de 2015

People like me.

People like me spent half of the year binging in the bed,
Reading articles about mosquitoes, crying to sleep with sheets full of blood
From all the times you cross a knife in you chest,
Because your wrists, don't have enough space left.
People like me spent half of the year not eating and not sleeping.
Going to the museums and meet too much people to even remember their name.
We spent all the insomniac nights having sex with strangers.
People like me don't know what is waking up one morning
And being sure that the walls are not melting,
That your mother was not abducted by aliens.
People like me are prescripted ten types of meds
Which you know that all of them will enter in your mouth
At the same time followed by one bottle of vodka.
People like me wake up in the hospital
Afraid that they have to leave. 

To the people who stare at me in the street.

To the people who stare at me in the street,
To the people who stare at me when I pee
To the people who stare at me when I'm not me.
This starts when I was young and I couldn't understand
Why people would just plainly stare.
At first I thought they could care
With me being so young and already so lost
Unbearably, unpredictably crazy, mad and above all, frustrated.
I was fucking hallucinating that I literally could eat the colors on the wall
And people would just take the hand of their kid.... And run,
But I just wanted to have one friend who could see it with me and have fun.
I was so convicted that my fantasies were real
That I thought people would stare at me because they could feel my energy,
They could tell how powerful I was and how I could read their thoughts.
Growing up I thought I could keep this up,
I would revolutionize the world, that no longer we all would be oppressed
I had super powers, I was a visionary.
But... I also discovered that we are the oppression,
We are not oppressed from a magical being watching us from above,
We are literally stupid enough to keep staring with passion
To the one who is making the choice to fucking lick the wall!
Because we think we have the right to judge,
That we are all superior individuals with magic powers
To descriminate a human being for his own choices
Of peeing in the middle of the street
Where you fucking insult a child for licking walls.

domingo, 11 de janeiro de 2015

A dor profunda não se sente, não é abalável, é um encontro com o vazio, o desespero eterno de nada haver. Lágrima seca que não se repete, desabafo de quem suspira pelo que não se quer, de quem derrama o que se já não se tem.
Sobrevive-se cambaleando, cuspindo restos do que algum dia foi amor.