"A cry, silent at our hears. Outside is easy because no one can listen to the stabbing sound that screams and shouts in our minds. Child thinking, unprotected, our shoes are small and but we can walk in them. Hence the not knowing, the misunderstanding. A mirror denies, a voice outside can not know what in our silence goes. Anoyance gets through, when it was but our pain choking in moments few. Our hearts with heavy burden, trying to relieve in silent voice, not succeeding, thus our screams extend inside our head. Unspoken tears outbursting our soul, not able to explain that pain is all we know. Lost in identity middle-ground, inside murderer voices call, no one can save what in a cry dissolves. A lost case we are, no swapping places would do, for us to explain what inside is dead and just hanging by a thread..."

your friend D

/tuck

"say, what don't you like about yourself?
a question raised
wonders cease
at the sharp cut of blade fifteen
deep or superficial
they mold
scarcely untold
changes done
exterior lies
to more damage caused inside

fix flesh
a nip here, a tuck there
talent hands
clay material
aerial torns
disperse in skin
dashes, dots, crops
taking always
never leaving
stealing bits and pieces
lost...

in today's troy
tomorrow's alloy
closed mask
never to grasp
what lies beneath
give youself a treat
no more skin deep
no more flesh surface
but one's heart cornered
in evening ties
in a day honored...

The question is not what but who?
Poor reminder
Daggering turn
Poor excuse of self twist
“Who” before “What” sentences
To confined soul
No surgeon’s hand is hold
For it cannot fix
A never whole…"

V

nip/

"it was night
the owl moaned
the river crossed
the silence spoke
so harsh bright
my heart emptied in delight

distant sounds
broken flesh
torn bones
recent wounds
moonlight sky
singing tones
in mesmerising 'ni'

deny my soul
forever eclipsed
a moment lost
a slightest dare
what there is else to snare?

nothing but a hole
torment in a gap
brain waves serial kill
my own insides in a trap
none to fulfill

for I no long sit
but still lies
soft spoken words
none to be true
thousand folded eyes
none perfect to

make is not born
a hole is but a hole
empty...
grow...

blind, see
die
it is I
why?

a perfect soul
a perfect mind
a perfect lie..."

V

silent note...









i am apprehensive. it is like when i played the piano. first i learned to read music and then at one point i no longer needed to translate the notes:they went directly to my hands. After a while i stopped playing and when i started again i found i could not play. i could not play by instinct and i had forgotten how to read music.
Francesca Woodman

no gelo de um fio de cabelo...

"Sinto o frio no meu rosto,
poço sem fundo,
desce sobre mim como ausência
resta nada mais neste segundo
longe de tudo,
frequência isensata de perder
a capacidade de ser?

Não, Sim, talvez?
nas minhas veias o sopro gelado
de uma nortada, que de passagem
optou por ficar, de vez
no meu sangue segue
na minha voz se instala
esse sopro
essa aragem fria,
congelou-me as emoções
meu intento ficou fechado
nas teias de um vento irado
blocos de gelo à minha porta
de gente torta
eu, pele morta
de dias que passam
e nao ficam.

Ao longe o uivo da nortada
fria, como dantes
fria, como agora
na lágrima que se congela
na minha face
chora, não
o choro perdeu-se na noite
não sou já eu
o adeus ao mar que leva
o olá à nuvem que traz
um baralho de cartas
todos valetes e nenhum às
rainhas depostas
reis incompetentes
forças correntes,
joker perfeito aprendiz
todos lhe perguntam: por que ris?

resposta não tem
seu sangue nao circula
é gelo e no gelo só
ficou pedra
labirinto de aridez
numa conta que não fez
e nada mais, talvez...

o inverno prolongado
no meu corpo pesado
irado o frio
me rebenta nas veias
que tanto me percorre
meras teias
feroz gelo,
que me parte,
no fio último
de cabelo..."

V