Rosas e Azuis

Escolho a dedo palavras, repouso no escuro entre tectos e reflexos de final de tarde, rosas e azuis, fusão mental, olhos fitados no horizonte possível e não só. Faço o enredo aquando do momento, o qual se torna completamente diferente. Paradoxo do amanhã. Sinto os sítios por mim passados, ambientes e pessoas, partilha e sorrisos. Sinto-me bem e, mesmo com cartas de fora, guardo as que me garantem intactas. Espero pelo despertar, escrevo coisas nos braços para não me esquecer, relembro-as já com a água que as levou, intimido-me e guio-me por vontades intocáveis de prazer seco. A importância das coisas varia demasiado, areia para cima de olhos enterrados e teimam em pestanejar. É curioso o esquizofrenismo que encontro e não questiono em tanta gente, pessoas que não sabem, não podem perceber. Ignorância e não estupidez como por vezes parece. Ingenuidade sem medos, tudo a perder. Eu não. Sei mais ou menos o que tenho e, o que não tenho, arrisco a cada mão. Sou relembrado por vezes que nem todos pensam como eu, coisa impossível de esquecer. Os dias passam-se, preservo um certo egoísmo que vai durando mais do que planeei, mais um bom exemplo... vivo desta vez seguramente, recuso não ser eu a ter o domínio nas vezes em que respiro fundo, quando faço coisas incompreensíveis para quem olha e não vê. Orgulho-me sem dúvida.

Low - tion

I'd rather write to you than about you... my sillyness blocks me, it kills me. As I see perfect spots surrounding you, pictures kept on the tips of my fingers, I actually fear that they're not even there. On my mind you surround everything you touch, even if it's over augmented, taken from movies. I can't despise, I leave my body behind, it's cultivated already. Marks noticed, marks I memorize, a part of mine craved on your wrist, on your tears, those which I don't think I believe... should I? Senseless above actions that you preserve even not knowing why. And why I do notice them? Since I can't realize why I do it, maybe by now you can tremble them on my face. I trick my body, my head, my expectations, which provides me a wrong glimpse about what I trully believe, I guess. I swore it wouldn't happen again. Just hate dragging my ass off for anybody. I wouldn't do that, I supposed some time ago. Who deserves it. Do you? Not even for me I do it, epidemic lotions of trust and abuse. Waves of it. I roll in them as I try to catch your heart on the shore. If I have known then what I know now... taking chances on the wrong moments. Empty pockets when I search for what I should always carry. Not regreting about what I do is my basis (...) regreting what I could have done is just weakness, and I'm so much stronger than that. I drive. Bursted wheels in flames to nowhere as the road is designed with the ticking of clocks and dry brushes. Wish I had a different "last name" sometimes... but I'm so much better than that, I wonder if you catch it, if you'll wish to walk backwards someday.

She told me she would be always thinking about me... no matter what... should I believe it? Trading your body like that, sharing another bed with that disbelieved intuition, when I crawl in my cold sheets pretending to sleep. The power I refered to her before... maybe she can realize it now. An honest mentor for self destruction. Nice. She told me she cried for me, that she missed me... wish I could taste those tears and give my idea of crying. If that is honesty I'de rather be dislexic. Wise net. Groups of lingering chills through my veins, emotional sarcasm on my soul. Pure warmth uppon ice... it melts. She doesn't believe me. She bets her life as I'm a cheap talker, as if I wouldn't leave a part of mine behind to harvest so much more after. She says she wants to see me again... the "friend" of the lost hours I guess... what can I say when I know that there's such a big lack of confidence, trust, of believing in taking risks and realizing that you live ONCE. Just once... no credits to buy, only credits to watch at the end unless you fall asleep. Buy stuff, inhale egos and magic stupidity. Don't try rewind it after to watch it again, it's not possible. Reality is a bitch sometimes. Purchase it after is nonsense. Tomorrow doesn't exist for anybody, Yesterday is your biggest friend. Tells you exactly what you don't want to hear, what you need the most, important meanings. Fear of repeating mistakes? That's a big one. Agoraphobia... staying inside for good. Those who took things for granted are the ones that miss the most. The lost breath takers. I wonder within my dreams if he really cares the way I do. You're so sure of it, too sure. Youth. I remember how many times at the age of 2 or 3 my parents told not to play with matches, I would burn myself; not to play with knives, I would cut myself; not to climb trees, I would fall... I did it anyway, I've burned myself, cutted myself, I fell so many times... and how glad I am. That's living... learning from our mistakes, taking always chances even if they went wrong before. Every person is unique and beautiful in such a deep way. I wish I would never grow older... the best part of it is occuring as I type. Why would her feel such need to move forward and miss it. I live my life, my own my love... nobody else takes my actions or decisions. They're conditioned sometimes... by myself. I hope she realizes that. Pretty blindfolds, you've got the sweetest ones yet. You know I'de be proud.

Ingenuidade Propositada

Leio as tuas palavras com o mesmo prazer que tenho ao escutar unhas infinitas inquebráveis que percorrem um quadro junto dos meus ouvidos, um quadro desgastado, vincado pelas tuas mãos, no qual não sinto dor tua (...) Cortam-me. Estou onde não estou, constantemente. Contradição. Sem cor na minha expressão impaciente, ciente porém, de que tudo o que imagino não tem base sequer. Demasiado platónico, até para mim... irrito-me e canso-me de me ter sempre ao lado. Sou má companhia para mim próprio. Quero reagir como mereces, como eu não mereço. Um dia irás querer atrasar todos os dias do mundo, em relógios baralhados de tão atrasados, esteja onde estiver, sejas tu quem fores nessa altura. És um quadro que eu produzi, não tens tinta própria, penso às vezes, pelo que me custa acreditar nos exageros que me dizes e nos altares nos quais me vês. "A ingenuidade é a alma da confiança".