quarta-feira, 22 de fevereiro de 2012

Às vezes

Às vezes eu quero falar. Às vezes não sai, às vezes não tem o que sair, às vezes eu só quero olhar, escutar, ouvir dizer. Às vezes aparece alguém na vida da gente, tomando nosso tempo, mas não desperdiçando-o, e sim fazendo dele algo especial. Às vezes. Às vezes não. Às vezes eu quero gritar “eu existo” mas só o fato de pensar que eu existo, me leva à conclusão de que não preciso gritar nada. Mas às vezes, eu grito. E às vezes, não escuto nada. Está tudo aqui dentro. As palavras, as vozes, os mundos desconhecidos, as lágrimas reprimidas, as frases repetidas. E às vezes é aqui dentro que eles têm de permanecer. Mas às vezes não. É, às vezes não.

sexta-feira, 17 de fevereiro de 2012


This reminiscence shall return to haunt this life
until I take my very longed dying breath;
and it touches my foolish and dreadful heart, she says.
I cannot wait for this to have an end;
I cannot wait for me to no longer be this noxious and
misunderstood little piece of wasted life, breath, words.
I cannot wait any longer. 
It hurts to wait.
It hurts to think.
It hurts to breathe.
I hurt, and I might not hurt anymore.

terça-feira, 14 de fevereiro de 2012

Vacuous pleasure

                There wasn’t a single thing I could say or think in that moment. My mind was blank, I could say it was like a dark night sky, or an overexposed picture with the sunlight burning my eyes out. My words were curled up inside my tongue which seemed I had swallowed in some non-human way. It was an odd feeling and I was feeling I’d faint any time soon. I fell down on my bed with my hair still damp, I had towel dried it before, so it wasn’t dripping any longer. I could feel the sensation of numbness itself without any feeling interrupting it besides the thought of “what will happen afterwards?” “Will I make it this time?”.
                Well, I didn’t. I didn’t make it and this time things got worse than ever before. There were crimson huge drops all over the bathroom sink, and I was stinking blood. I was stinking blood since ever before. The quantity of blood which came out that night was just a bit of all the leftover residing here underneath all these bandages and stuff they put around these bones and this thick skin I couldn’t feel any longer.
                There was a time when I really felt I would make it. That time was when I fell down on my bed with all that toilet paper around my arm and couldn’t make a single move without feeling faint. I was clinging in a thought I know it would probably not come true, but I was still there, being strong.  It seemed I belonged there for some reason, and for this unknown reason I should stay there until a single kind (or poor) soul showed up their face at my half open door and saw my body stinking blood and failure. Yes, I forgot about it. Failure was an essence of mine as well. The stink grew older with myself year by year, day by day, and couldn’t ever leave me behind. I was the failure. I was a failure. I was all those crimson drops spread over the bathroom sink and floor. I was still. Everything was so calm under the numbness and the stink of death and I felt happy for a second, I would say. Not actually happy, because I really don’t know how it feels, but I guess I should call that a happy thought. 
                Do you really want to know what this feeling is like? No, you don’t. You’re curious, but you’re afraid. Most people are, don’t feel so alone right now, there will be time for it. But I’ll tell you about it for a few minutes, while I sit and rot under these overwhelming thoughts of mine. 
I felt stagnant inside that enormous body. I couldn’t even move a limb. I felt awful but at the same time I felt good, numb, absent, under the thought that I would finally reach the bottom of the black hole where I was in so far, and with the feeling of faintness, dizziness. When I finally got up and faced myself in the mirror, it was unusual. It felt like that person wasn’t I, and I felt disgusted with that reflection and with myself. I was feeling dizzy, so I thought the eradication of my existence would be fairly soon enough, and I’d be glad for it. I thought nothing afterwards. When I looked back in the mirror and recognized that blank, hideous face of mine, I was in panic. It felt like if someone touched any part of me, I’d collapse. Everything was loathsome, and the ephemeral thought of goodness coming out from that thick abyss shedding rivers of blood had an end, forever after.

sábado, 4 de fevereiro de 2012


I’ll stare at you until you notice me, until you feel the cold breeze in your skin, which is my soul inviting you to fade away with me.

quinta-feira, 2 de fevereiro de 2012


Every breath
that you
breathe in
feels like

              Born in the wrong age, born in the wrong body, born with the wrong mind, born damaged.
              That is me.

© 2009Dead Souls | by TNB