I shave my face
In front of the mirror
I am careful
Experient
I spread the foam
I clean the blade
I stare at me
Serious, with methodical precision
Full of proper gadgets
I don’t miss childhood
Poems, stories, incomplete thoughts and some other terrible lies... (written by a brazilian poet)
I shave my face
In front of the mirror
I am careful
Experient
I spread the foam
I clean the blade
I stare at me
Serious, with methodical precision
Full of proper gadgets
I don’t miss childhood
Insomnia is the slow torture of the soul
The prison of dreams
A garden of yellow anguishes
The waiting for never
A bird
Flying
searching for the horizon
A raft in the desert
Waiting for the next rain
The insomniac’s hunger has no name
And when one does not insits that it exists,
when one desists,
It finally goes away
I am where
I want to be
I refrain myself
from thinking
I feel I am
at a non-place
There is joy
There’s disgrace
I travel, dream
Stop the time
I’m the lord
Of mine
And I forget
the obligation
of existance
Then my sleep calls
I disappear a little
Whenever I see her
She knows I ilke her
She pretends so well I am nobody
I spy from the window
My new neighbor
She is old and lives alone
Her hair is dyed
Tired eyes
Fake teeth and rare smile
She’s noisy
Screems, shouts, groans
Snores, yaps, moans
Two o’clock
And the lights are on
Probably thinks of the days
When she was not grown
The waiter stares at me
With his glass eye
Asks if I’m satisfied
As soon he charges the bill
Takes the bottles, just a few
m
I keep waiting for him to take me too
I just don’t know whether I go to the kitchen
Or the garbage can
Half short, half long
In the swing of the bus
Closes her eyes
Sleeps and dreams
Or pretends to sleep
to pretend to dream?
Sees her self
In a Fellini train
Crossing an unknown
Village, a castle
Covered by a golden fog
She knows the journey ends
When she gets to her destiny
But she barely knows where to go
Only knows she wants to leave
This girl is more doubts than certainties
More ideas than beauties
But she’s more free than prisoner