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David Cunha Apr 2017
Burning minds,
Brilliant minds
Different minds...

All of them writing the same old stuff,
Bowing themselves to the ancient knowledge,
Going to waste.

All of them stuck inside four walls,
25 of them:
Learning that passion and dreams are money!
Learning that power is freedom!
Thinking that peace is no war...

How fleeting their brilliance,
How wasted their genius,
How happy they are...ignorant,
How they despise madness and true humor,
How they accept the concrete walls!
How they feel one with the smoke and tar!
How they laugh at gibberish and lead
Sober, boring, small lives...
How they look at big cities
Instead of trees,
How they learn that beauty is a monstruous exuberance
Instead of passion, freedom and the simplicity of oneself
In the middle of every day circus.
David Cunha Jun 2017
I feel like I feel I should feel
                   all but this,
                                this uneasiness

I think like I think I should think
                     very much more,
                               much more clearly

I should even fake it
                or make it go away,
                                        Cannot.

For it is love who's making me uneasy.
Love's always a "who"
june 23, 2017 2:21 a.m.
David Cunha Jun 2017
Absence is the name we give to things which are always there
Places people memories and jokes turned sorrow
To the same man's eyes.

They keep poking and getting toes to scratch the calf
And head to explode in a bursting shooting of images
                       And smells
                                 And touches
                                          And sensations you never knew you had.

Absence is the dread-full page
                          Of a poem written
                                   Laying on a dead man's face.
David Cunha Feb 2
**** this aching train
Life's been better than lately
Could have been worse, though
- David Cunha
february 2, 2024
4:03 a.m.
David Cunha Jul 2017
A poem a day
A poem away
From driving my tears away.

A poem someday
A poem a way
To make up colors from grey.

A poem sometimes
A poem that rhymes
The look of a man counting his dimes,

                 That look from me
                 That look of him
                 Figuring out what's grimm

A poem in time
A poem at night
An ode to freedom out of fright.

A poem to scorch
A poem to heal
To change the world or know what's real.

Although, what's your deal?
july 9, 2017
6:10 a.m.
David Cunha Jun 2017
That moment
When her lips are your favourite lollipop
And her skin tastes like ice cream melting in your tongue,
The flavour drools godly juice.

That moment when the rythm are two beating hearts,
The winds outside take over
And you take shelter sheltering her.
David Cunha May 2017
See me waiting for you at the bus station
Think of me waiting for you naked in your bed
Dream of me writing poetry with my tongue under your skirt.

See me writing a poem in class
Think of me running the rainy street towards your room
Dream of me desperately designing all possible number of perfect circles IN your body.

See me kissing you goodnight
Think of me holding you at 5 after midnight ride
Dream of us naked sailing to Hawaii the ocean blue and the blue moon moves the tide, swearing to your ear unimaginable '*****' words.

They wouldn' let us, wouldn' do, would be too ***** for them,
For they don' have the burning desire of being human.
David Cunha Jun 2017
Each lives inside everyone;

We have little versions of others  pumping hearts
Sharing words with us;
An image, well more than that,
                           It's as if each one
                           Was a poem, a half-living poetry in motion
                           And it's good to talk with those.

Yet sometimes I have to put them all out to sleep,
Sometimes I need a moment with the dark.
David Cunha Jun 2017
There's a tiger in my crotch
An iguana on my ***
And I'm not sure if to stand up
Or stay put like a reptile at the sun,

I'd be better off killing those two.
And I might do it,
If not, I might end up turning into a circus house
And live like a clown.
Learning to be myself
june 25, 2017
David Cunha Jun 2017
Himself a machine,
Like a cool train
Like a moving rollercoaster
Like a ravaging mechanical animal

Iron oil and rust,
Pulsating boiling blood
Bursting brilliantly.
To my grandfather
David Cunha Oct 2022
What scares me through this dark forest?

It is not the dark,
Nor the wet socks,
Nor the treacherous rocks in the way
Nor the rustling of grass unpaved
Nor the occasional shriek of an owl
Nor the cold, nor the starvation
Nor the bats and insects and crawling creatures
Nor the unknown beyond horrid imagination
Nor the screams of sorrow's victims
Nor the silence, or the sheer loneliness

The only fear is existing
Painfully drifting
Having nowhere to go
No journey to bleed for,
Having to watch the forest burn
As hollers of delight emerge from monstrous look-alikes,
Siblings turned beasts of false pretenses and heavy machinery

And the more it burns, the more colorful it gets,
The more join in, the louder it grows, they're having a blast!
Till the smoke touches every molecule in the air,
Till we all suffocate in a carbon monoxide high
Forever frozen in a grin of painful ecstasy,
And the forest turns to ashes, awaiting a kinder generation,
A kinder species, perhaps.
october 17, 2022
3:21 p.m.
David Cunha Aug 2017
A couple being playful
Holding hands occasionally,
A man tuning his guitar in the sand by the sea,
A lonely woman coming back to the hotel
White plastic bag in hand,
Cars swooping the yellowed
Street silhouettes

And the man who can't sleep
Because his body's clock is upside down
Because there were 37ºC during the day
And body can't be refreshed by hot salty water
Because he dreamed and she was there,
More time than he needed
With such tenderness which couldn't be imagined

And the Mediterranean is getting bluer by the minute
And the boats now visible
And the guitar player never left the sand
And the man who can't sleep will remain awaken
By a dream which had put him to sleep.
Benidorm, Spain
august 3, 2017
6:35 a.m.
David Cunha Jun 2017
Bittersweet poetry why you call me at night
Sleeping just to make me ***** your holy ink.

Bittersweet poetry I'm only a child let me be
Don't mess this innocence you don't know.

All right I'm as innocent as you
Let me at least hold my breath
And after my bleed in thy honor, rest.
David Cunha Jul 2017
I wait here
I sit comfortable
With the most uncomfortable awating.

I don't wait for anything in particular,
Maybe I'm just getting psychotic
Obsessed,
Or just now fully understanding what an artist does
In particular a writer,
                          The bleed
                                  The invisible wounds
                                          The drinking
                                                 The foul sour mood.

I haven't been drinking that much
I've exercised like a maniac
And that might explain my couple-day-break from writing.

**** this
***** all the poems
Smash those beers
Even break my guitar

Just don' leave me waiting in vain.
Come with me, let's split the world into angels and demons
Let's blame them all
Let's play like little brats
Let's let the soul shine brilliantly
Let's smile, laugh and cry in the summer rain

Come bleed with me.
july 1st, 2017
3:56 a.m.
David Cunha Apr 2017
How they fake
How they copy
How they fear
How they dream scared dreams in tears.

How they drink from bored mugs
How they live like slugs
How they make money cigarettes
How they pray for money bags

How they crave recognition
How they bend for the system
How they brag ignorance
How they weep romance

How they shove it up their *****
How they're continuously embarrassed
How they play the game
How they never blame

How they praise intuition
How they preach superstition
How they form their private cliques
How they corporate religion´

Will this joke ever end?
Sorry, no, I will not bend.
David Cunha Jun 2017
"O victory forget your underwear we're free"...
Yet we all keep our genitals intact, immaculate, in closure
Inside flannel suits and ties and shirts and microphones
And all of that ******* we created called modesty and decency
Oh...and kindness
Kindness is no more than a way to keep our will from funcioning
Modesty and decency no more than ways to keep our
                                             love from being free

And if love can't be free, what else can?
Quote from "Howl" by Allen Ginsberg
David Cunha Aug 2017
People people
                         they go around like pigs
                         showcasing their fancy suits
                         proclamating the biggest trend

Jewelry, then food, then them big fast automobiles

Those are the priorities by order

Getting greedy
Getting fat
Gettin' Gettin' GETTIN'
                                
                                 In a monstruous ball of meat!
                                 With a monstruous will of plastic!
                                 Monstruously stupid!
                                              Monstruous,­
                                              monstruous...

I'm­ gettin' tired
But I'm afraid,
They are just getting started.
august 17, 2017
3:31 a.m.
David Cunha Jun 2017
When you are passionate,
When you don't want it,
When you don't long for it.
When you NEED it
When the night calls your name
When you are the only person alive
When your consciousness begins to enflame
When your eyes collide with the stars
When your head spins yet focuses on one point
When your spirit is not a spirit and you are one with your body
When your arms are machines steaming and burning with glory
When your legs are a rocketship light-speed towards the moon
When you are the ARCHANGEL you always hoped for and never appeared
When it all vanishes and you are trapped only by that NEED
That HUNGER
That FLAME.

When you are ONE with the adrenaline which burns your veins into infinity
When you are your own GOD
When you are thirsty tired broken yet keep going,

When your passion renders you complete.
june 22 2017
David Cunha Jun 2017
I am electron
You are positron
I am moon
You are sun
Me, winter
You, summer

Yet continuosly turning in a dynamo twist
Burning, cooling, forgetting our places and time

We forgot, totally forgot.
This is the rule of the Universe:
The opposites are destined
To make the world go round
And shake it
Tremble it
In a bursting ball of passionate fire!
David Cunha Feb 2023
Like rats, lab confined
Like fish, water confined
Like blood, vessel confined
Like children, perception confined

There are stars we'll never reach,
Spaces we'll never meet
Forms we'll never greet
The Universe expands faster than our growth

Faster than light, perhaps -- we're in a cosmic cage.
- David Cunha
july 15, 2022
10:42 a.m.
David Cunha Aug 17
Curiosity
from the depths it comes, expands.
Tears, joy, holy grail
- David Cunha
august 17, 2024
4:08 a.m.
After meditation
David Cunha Dec 2023
Hurdles and trials
Deadlines and bills, stress galore,
Find me an angel
- David Cunha
december 28, 2023
12:34 p.m.
David Cunha May 2017
I like the nastiest bars,
Those where the waitress is called names
But she doesn't care 'cause she's too kind
And tries to keep it all clean for 400 a month.

Those bars have drama
Whole worlds and stories continuosly entangling,
Whisky on rocks, vomits and shouts
Here comes Rita the waitress to clean it all again;
Dogs bark in the streets
Women cry in their beds as men get drunk
And kick the innocent trash can over a discussion about gibberish.

The loner cat lurks the street at night
Hunting for hamburgers that fell off the trash can,
The drunk men start a fight,
'Here comes the police!' 'Run-run!'
One falls, gets the blame and a free trip to county jail,
Three others join a party and feed the ******
Money and **** --- tails.

Finally, the last one goes home
To beat the crying wife over the same junk
And the repressed anger only a coward can hide.
David Cunha Jul 2017
An impulse from the gut
I am mentally driving and screaming to the desert plains
                          like a mental coyote,

Dry mouth, sour tongue
I'm begging for some relief
And all I get is this ******* conventional life
And rules.

I want the wind, the drought, the sun
                                                     the stars
                                                     the dirt
                                                     the road
                                                     the sweat
                                                     the ***
                                                     the steaming muscles
                                                     the burning skin
Or just the night,

And its yellow moon to bloom in me
And ******* away.
(That's all I ask.)
july 10, 2017
2:28 a.m.
David Cunha Jun 2017
You and me,
We are different from other people,
Victims of the same experiment,
Sufferers of the same cataclysm
Lost in the same food for thought,
Rainbow-skinned aliens with antennas and crystal hearts...

Yet, let the wind take over and ride it,
Let the drive which makes your heart burst
Be your fuel,
And let it burn inside you until you've got nothing left to burn...

Let's stop pretending,
Let's not be lab rats anymore,
Let us be more than humans
Let us dream and grab and have peace of mind...
Let's **** the scientists one by one
And finally reach infinity
While experiencing the last brief moment of consciousness
With only a smile.
Old one, dedicated to my dear friend
David Cunha Jun 2017
I am yours.
I have no choice and I don't want to choose,
I am yours.
In your womb started the journey,
I am yours.
Besides any hate or stumble and our great disagreements,
I am yours.
Not because you made me, because you fed me your holy milk and the serum of words,
I am yours.
Through every night awake I always thought of you,
I am yours.
You are as sincere as a sharp blade and I love it,
I am yours.
I have never cried for a woman the way I cry for you,
I am yours, my first teacher, my eternal goddess.
To my mother 14 june 2017
David Cunha Feb 2023
Time skips in between screen time emptiness
Mind's fuzzy with the traffic sounds
Eyes blinded by the flashing lights
Hands struggle to reach something pleasurable, at least,
As the heart beats excited for the minute-lasting serotonin blast

The hair grows an inch each week,
The numbness comes in days and leaves for a couple hours by bits,
The blood's rage meets the grinning face of guilt,
And the will to change is temporary.

What will it be when I'm 70?
What will change in me?
What will it be like when I'm not me?
And if I'm not me, who else should I be?
Why should I care for the fate of the world?
Why can't I be cozy for 20 years and die alone, slowly?
Why do I have to get up in the first place?
Why do I have to belong to the human race?
Racing indefinitely
Pretending to wear the shield of bravery for someone else's dream-****-like-fantasy,

What are all these brands and all these bands of crows?
Eating fleshless people with money for bones
Why is the circus always in town?
Why does the TV lie?
Why does the Internet lie?
Why do the people who run our money lie?
Why do the people who run us lie?
Why is it all so fake and sly?
What is all this bellyful hunger?

What is it that I can't grasp?
Is our nature really all that nefast?
If this is peak humanity, why should it last?
- David Cunha
february 8, 2023
4:00 p.m.
David Cunha Apr 2017
The human rules not yet defined,
Thousands of years of prosecutions and elaborated speeches ---
all individual interest --- hypocritical *******,
No path defined.

Truthfully there is no universal law except for freedom regarding freedom untangled and pure.
Yet , there is no purity only control over power over people over fools over a degrading society played like a chess game for fun of our fear king is the only piece standing still.

I though will submit like a pawn trembling blind to its core sacrificed effortlessly as the queen is, too, used ignorant!
What's left is to laugh --- like a *******--- exposing this invisible ****** under gods' noses

Who cheerfully feast on human flesh.
David Cunha Jul 2017
What are your wettest dreams?
What makes your legs tremble at 4 a.m.
Just to wake with a head shaking with shame
With your heart still burning from the night hazy visions
                   Your arms still tingling
                             Your toes still curled?

Forget women and ***
I'm asking you something worth of Argonauts
Astronauts if you need to modernize,
Just don't apologize and tell me now
Actually don't,

Speak to yourself
Actually don't speak
                don't think
Just break that fake stern face they make you wear.

Liberate your *****
Let the poem *** inside your mind
Break the four walls
                  and the 40,000 you have created

Block only your need for bathroom
                                             and *** (again)
                                             and trouble
                                             and comfort

Hold your heart with your right hand

And your ***** with the left

And scream the name the place the time and you'll find what you're lookin' for.
july 1st, 2017
5:26 a.m.
David Cunha Jun 2017
Ancient gods beat endless tender minds,
Simple empty sleeping.

Human touch *******
Save dark heart,
                   Power burning stars forgot skin
Constructed from consecutive chosen words in my 'words' section... even the title.
David Cunha Jun 2017
Forget what they ALL say
Forget origin common sense and mood and fashion,
Forget the human in you and unleash your unique inner species,
Light your heart with electricity from the skies
                                       wetness from the rain
                                        rough grains from the land
                                        And BE!

Just be, become endless,
Free!
Enjoy the sunlight and forget the smoke
They got thrown in your eyes.
David Cunha Apr 2017
As boats float across scratching the water sheets
Solid cellos vibrate in ethereal space, the golden feminine sound of violin perpetuates and piano marks the beat giving sweet sweaty harmony.

All this and light,
All this in the morning light,
All this and fools don't even bother looking
As I stand staggered paralyzed by this yellow morning sight of GODS.
David Cunha Jun 2017
The fresh paint leaks
It is not a painting
Naked in bed.
Man is nature, raw and satisfied.
David Cunha Feb 10
Vibrant despair blowing out like sand paper from the soul
Dreams of colour
Fearless hallucination of love
for the World

A stream of consciousness so pure and thick
like a raw gem
like a river
like a marching bull
Painfully fulfilling me full

I could run for miles if I had the Sea to sightsee
if I had the Sun gleaming on me
if I had your figure in memory
even if I had nothing and wasn't meant to be

A fuel that bursts my pupils into a huge void
serotonin
dopamine
adrenaline
and so
a rocket to the Moon and my hands on this keyboard
setting the stage for another round

I cannot be stopped, I can only be blunt
I can only do it
I can only run
Veins bulk in a steaming rush
and thus time disappears like a fog

I am lucky I am here
- David Cunha
february 10, 2024
5:16 a.m.
David Cunha Jul 2017
The clear stream chuckles
And the mountain opens itself to my gaze,
Lik'a woman, lonely, powerful.

The misty mysterious haze covers
Its top and I wonder,
'Why is it so blue at dawn?'

I wish time stopped there for a long moment

Seems as if I'm the last man alive,
Strangely, I'm quiet happy with it
It's not as melancholic as I thought it would be.
july 9, 2017
6:00 a.m.
David Cunha May 2017
The bearded man sleeping on the park bench
An old man,
His walking stick leaning and his bag in between crossed arms.

He didn't have a smile though he was sleeping a rested sleep with his face unconstricted below the shadow of the tall city hall;
Hidden from the summer heat which came early,
Not hidden from looks,
Not caring at all.

The old man holding his half-grey beard with an expression as cool as the breeze.
David Cunha Sep 2017
Foolishness should be a crime
And a heavy crime,
It takes more of oneself than anything ever could with sharp grey razors
Penetrating flesh slowly in one's immense pleasure,
Oddly satisfying until the end comes,
                      And the end is always near
                                     As foolishness gets in touch with reality.

And what strikes me is that anyone can be a fool,
It seems to be embedded in the human DNA
                        Holding hands with corruption,
For foolishness is nothing but the corruption of oneself
At the hands of fantasy.
september 12, 2017
0:49 a.m.
David Cunha Jun 2017
Love will not save you
It won't save anyone,
Ask any cardiologist.

It is a bitter thing, love
And every feeling that traps you
In ecstasy tying you to another soul.

Never more blissful than the effort  it takes
To handle,
The gut screams, the heart fails.

The spirit laughs.
David Cunha Jan 11
Early turqoise sky
Damp heart beats melancholy
Mind is in refuge
- David Cunha
january 11, 2024
11:21 p.m.
David Cunha Apr 2017
I'm really sick of law
of telling me what to do
of telling me where to go;

Sick of time, of counting time
Sick of all the adventures I could have
but stay home take care
Same little same bed
It isn't big enough;
A large boulder would suffice better as a bed
In a desert or a plain I don't care.

I want get new fluids up and down my body law doesn't cope
I want excessive alcohol, excessive hugs, excessive moolight
I want it so excessively I want to ***** it
Spread it
Swallow it
And **** it all again
At once!
All at the same time!
I want starvation drunkness under the moon
I want sweating under the sun on the desert plains
I want not bathing and howling on the dirt
Animals would be ashamed
And so be it
I want beat this world and the other and be beaten by it.

Send me some *******' postcards of your places

I wanna visit them all!
David Cunha Sep 2017
Could never fall for you,
Could never fall while the summer smiling,
Could never fade into your shadow sighing,
But I did.

Leaving sane,
Was never something I suspected,
Antecipated or intended, yet how I wish
Your word wasn't blue,
And your heart true
To someone else's beating.

Could never fall for you,
Could never fall while the summer smiling,
Could never fade into you recklessly trying,
But I did.

Now in trance,
Leaving traces of my senses,
Interpretating all my phases, of regret
And what I set,
Foolishly in dread
By letting you in me.

Could never fall,
Never at all,
Leaving sane...
SONG
somewhere in September of 2017
David Cunha Jun 2017
Without you is without the sun
And the moon isn't there
To watch me in the night,

Without you is unbearably strange
Like a fallen arm
An empty rage,

Without you is heartless and odd
Sinking in bed
Stranded thought,

Without you my poems rhyme
Aren't the same
And the smell of your hair...

...the touch of our lips,
Our first kiss in the car
The endless nights awake

With your love.
june 19 2017
David Cunha Jul 2017
Love is a not war
But against ourselves,

A will changing
Passion lifter
Bone breaking
Hand scarring
Feet burning,

It has not much to do with the heart
As it slices our brain in half
And we love it
Like loony maniacs who never had a cookie in their lifetime.
july 3, 2017
1:18 p.m.
David Cunha Jun 21
This heavy despair
Bruises the soul from within
Lost love is cruel
David Cunha
june 6, 2024
5:13 a.m.
lonely at the hotel
David Cunha Jul 2017
There are more stinky love poems than anything else.

Even I have written too many
Even I have written 1, sometimes, 2 full pages
But soaking the paper with tears.
Some go different, go joyful
And why?
Because love is easy to write about
It is the most powerful emotion only equal to hatred
Yet the most boring;
Unless it comes with anything attached
I yawn at those pesky stanzas of repeating gibberish.

Those who vainly describe love itself are cowards
Those who read them morbidly curious
And those who enjoy weak of mind,
For inftuated poems are the equivalent to a pop song
                                  easy to construct
                                  easy to deconstruct
                                  easy to marvel
                                  easy to cry at
                                  easy easy easy
                                  nothing new nothing learned

'O the perfect skin', 'O the glittering eyes', 'O the cheeky smile',

If you want to write about love put some mustard into it
And make it real
Don't waste my time, all lovers are marvelous I get it,

But what scars do they have?
And how many do they leave us with?
july 3, 2017
12:43 a.m.
David Cunha Jun 2017
They make up for you the human condition
They create the world, how it came up,
And put matters simple
They oppress and suppress thought
Rendering it brittle
They constantly tie you to the ground
To the rotten roots grown in hatred.

Saints appear all over the place
                        Yet GOD is the only idol
                        And humans equally special...they say;
They propagate and infect children with their diseased minds
                             Yet 'belief is liberating'
                             And never CORRUPT and pure.

Oh father, sweet sweet 'padre',
I almost forgot:
                            How many infants have you devoured lately?
Dedicated to all the rotten "souls" of the church
David Cunha Apr 2017
End of april break of may
Music humming in mind scratching
My stomach, lightly yet
Enough to send burning adrenaline, hormone which makes me
Whistle.

Coffee well taken on a wooden table
With friends laughing generously
Silly jokes make the air more breathable,
Back to lunch
Writing this poem on the cafeteria
Thinking of you and your broken smile.
april 28th 2017
David Cunha Jul 2017
People have no idea what they are dealing with,
People don't know and don't want to know
What truly surrounds them,
                                If they did
                                They'd wish they wouldn't know.
                                They want a quiet life
                                A bread on the table
                                And cable TV.

Thing is, people are not themselves.
People were taught to be people by people who were manipulated and made people
                                                                            by people who didn't know what they were,
People look at a baby
And worry more of making him a 'people' of their own
Than to ask:
'Who are you?'
july 12, 2017
1:57 a.m.
David Cunha Apr 2017
My life is a blank
I cannot get myself out of bed I'm frightened.
I feel terrorized by my potential and possibilities;

My life is bending
Backwards and I cannot help it I'm embarassed.
I feel my limbs in pain for sleeping too much;

My head is getting empty
I'm a farce, an unintelligent man one more for the crowd.
I lost the ability to be.
april 26th 2017
David Cunha May 2017
A smirk in the dark sipping the imaginary green tea of cleanse night.
Staggered, I fall backwards satisfied with my own senseless tongue
As fingers drop and slightly touch the thinest layer of dust.

Stars unseen but I imagine them perfectly smilling towards my eager to please the moon.
She laughs at my desperation to burn and leaves me staring at the empty wind.
I forgot to close the window and it's already 4 a.m.
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