There is no
sweeter innocence
than the distress
caused
by the gentle rythm
of your torture
There is no cleaner
sound than the words
pouring out of your
mouth,
obscene
There are no lines between us tonight
no lines in between
(purity and sin)

looking out through rose-tainted windows
and peach-skin dreams.
the world around you
(you´re such a good boy)
is such a new thing
and you haven´t got the time
(it´s time to leave the playground now)
to waste on all these simple things
like figurines on icy roller rinks
or wet flamingos in bright pinks
shining like the stars that
drink
the darkness out of the night

the world around you
fairly new
might seem too small
for all your dreams to
bottle
(you can be anything)
and it is

like yellow flowers
on faded dreams
you came to me
gently,
with the soothing voice
of a sweaty spring
thank you, old friend
for being able to be
dark enough to see
the hidden light
in me

i will not go into the times we shared
asphyxia and summer air
juxtaposed to form
an inseparable pair

who am I, old friend
when the ship´s horn blares
if you made me who I am
(if you made me scarce)

like yellow flowers
on faded dreams
you left me
softly, without
any warning of
the lack of color
(there would be)
without your splendor

the proud moments of greatness
seem much louder than
the strenuous, arduous
f
  a
     l
        l

                                  But it is then
                      when our bodies collapse
                    and the crowd no longer claps
                     that the brevity of stars is felt
                 and the call of the siren is heard
              rising from the depths of our humanity
  
( it is only then we learn
that no being deserves disregard
nor should be made a deity
for failing is part of the duality  
that comes with the mortal experience)

three words
on the tip
of a nervous tongue
the not-so-subtle
trip
down a worn out
throat
the words pour out
hot
(like if my body
was the stove)
burning any semblance
of
                           proper
judgement