Around the square wooden table
                                  Shared friends toasting freedom
                                  The old soul of her
                                  With door-pointed feet
Yet she can feel the comfortable chair

                                  
                            ­       Outdoors a hurricane of
                                   honey and chips
                                   soup and beer
                                   Alegrete and Trairão
                                   distracts her out of the numbness
Yet the agreement with senseless is attained


Some brains try shouting her heart
- Why don't you keep your coma?
Too stubborn to place ears on the wall
Dancing with the wild winds


Indoors, the crowd smashing pens
- Why are you so self-centered you cannot hear us?
Poor curious heart taken by mistake
As the spirit of a heartless queen
                                              
                 ­                   Locked

Now the objects around
They are close to me, they touch me
But no, I cannot feel them with little space
Slowly sufocating, light speed irritating

Now the objects in orbit
They are distant, the wind can blow between us
But joy, I can feel them
I see them from the far spot
Light speed perceiving, slowly breathing

A chain of controversial versions of myself in a war;
It throws me back into this moment I use to call "I don't know what I'm doing"
One like me searches the perfect golden *** that is always around the corner.
What a big fancy house! Next minute it turns into dust
It makes me weaker every frustated trial, but you see... it's a circle
Suddenly I'm back surrounding the prize. God! excitement
Fantasy, shame on it!
I know what really makes you who you are, who you think you are. It says to me.
You need to set your darkness free, it will eat you up
Should I let the beast out?
Why do I keep locking it in if its only intent is cutting pieces of me, giving them to the hungry outsiders?
The answers are here, but I can't find them
I bet it'is because of your moral rules, my submission to your covered decent laws
Fantasy, shame on it!
Little monster go sponging another host.

Pity for the whole world now. I wasn’t enough suffering. And when I’m in, the little things become sun. They shine in my direction and they are so strong and they are so meaningful and they are so blue and noticing them is my tragedy.
I can feel the smooth wind hurting my face, why are you so gentle? You are joy of sadness, my simple need to cry out all the thorns inside, to exorcise shadows, to forget the wounds, even if they are not cured. Because when I’m in there is a grieving unknown, I can smell her, and I can see her, and I become so desperate, and I take her for me, and I like her for a moment. Then I regret it.
I feel different now, I feel repelled, I feel blind, deaf and mute. I just feel us
I pity the whole world now, I pity her
I have to leave it for a while because I’ve just forgot the wounds. For how long?

05/2011