thoughts-of-a-dying-poet

[thoughts-of-a-dying-poet]

let it go. breathe and let it go.

[thoughts-of-a-dying-poet]

I love you like the sun loves the sea. My only promise is to be there for you when you rise and when you set.

bea; I want to see you so bad

[thoughts-of-a-dying-poet]

Irrelevante

A vida consiste em juntar as partes e o incompleto, que julgamos como todo como encontrar verdade nessa inventada realidade? não sei... será que... não sei... Um dia, apenas um momento é o que preciso pra que todas as palavras [que correm em minha mente se disponham em frases em orações em versos, estrofes, em música no ritmo que seguem os corações que sofrem e amam e sofrem e não param... Se a intenção fosse apenas escrever então palavras seriam só letras símbolos são moldes da arte são o todo e a parte são o ar que respiramos apesar de cortarmos, incessantemente, as árvores a inspiração tudo se acaba em vão... E tudo aquilo que criamos nos liberta e a arte captura nossos sentimentos e os troca por algo mais forte maior que a humanidade maior que todo o universo em segundos nos quais passamos a procurar os motivos por trás de cada ideia por quê...?

[thoughts-of-a-dying-poet]

Fragmentos

apenas eu um livro, em branco em um mundo onde todas as outras páginas parecem preenchidas apenas eu a única folha a cair tentando evitar a queda e o despedaçar ao ainda ver a árvore completa apenas eu a luz na árvore de natal que não é capaz de manter-se acesa e impede o brilho das restantes apenas eu todos nós; livros escritos folhas que decompor-se-ão em árvores luzes que brilham sem piscar

[thoughts-of-a-dying-poet]

looked at - but never seen

we wanted a reason to keep living, to stay breathing and to pretent that surviving would palliate any of that pain - and then I saw your eyes again

we wanted to share some deep secrets, hopes or dreams and suddenly it just seems that weight was taken off my back - maybe I did not feel its lack

we wanted to smile for each other, to be stronger and to make time here last longer so there was more spent side by side - it felt so true; as good as you

we wanted perfection gentle winds, blooming roses to have a day of what composes us, although I cannot deny - perfect, for me, is you and I

[thoughts-of-a-dying-poet]

momento

momento; o tempo passa ao som do vento enfatizado, a ti desperta espanto que foi gerado em riso ou gasto em pranto que foi levado a léguas num alento momento; enquanto eterno nega o nada e enquanto breve briga por seu brilho ao saltar sob o sol, sem empecilho prevê o mar apagando sua pegada momento; trilha sua estranha estrada sentiu-se cego ao ser só sentimento e de razão se fez, mas sem risada momento; lá veloz e logo lento insiste e, num instante, se instigada, a vida move e volta a ser momento

[thoughts-of-a-dying-poet]

world - odd world

my world is what I make of it that’s just what she said it was but what if those things I can’t reach are lines that perfection draws?

my world is what i take from it that’s just what he said it was somewhere warm; those thoughts I lit on fire will turn all to dust

I’ve always hoped to break the mold to change the world from its back door to hold it - touch it - make it gold

but I can see it to the core now that you became my world I don’t want it to change anymore

[thoughts-of-a-dying-poet]

as usual

do you still think of her? during those lonely nights you spend just wondering what life would be if you lied - but you didn’t are you that selfish? well, you ruined everything for both of you as usual

do you still think of him? when it’s all dark and near the end you panick and so does he he tried - but you didn’t are you that selfish? well, you changed everything for both of you as usual

do you still think of me? the only one you cannot stand you look but you never see that if you died - but you didn’t you wouldn’t be that selfish well, you lived everything for both of us as usual

[thoughts-of-a-dying-poet]

birthday

how much of a difference can I make if, while alive, I can change things but if I did not exist the Eart would still revolve around the sun? isn't it a risk we take to try to fly with our own wings to mean something and to insist on simply being someone? if I breathed or not things would stay the same and maybe the impact I cause lives only in what people see so I'll move on with what I got hiding both pride and shame since the universe won't ever pause I say "happy birthday to me"

[thoughts-of-a-dying-poet]

wish

I wish I were special I wanted people to look at me and see someone different someone better I wanted to make a difference, to turn destruction into creation instead of doom it's midnight I wish I were pretty or even more than that: I wish I were beautiful in a way that the stranger whose eyes crossed mine on the street would remember me but they won't because I'm not sure if it's summer, but even if it snowed I'd still be as forgettable as the actions of saying "sorry" or "good morning" to the ones you unknowingly cohexist with it's 1:32 am I wish things would be okay I really do and, yes, I swear I'm trying but does it even make a difference? or are we just delaying the undeniable certainty that decides the end of us all? am I just extending the hours of suffering to a whole lifetime? when does a lifetime end? it's 2:50 am I wish it was easier to disappear, I guess I don't know for sure if that is what I want although it would probably be better for everyone if I was just gone suddenly, bright as a lightning and sadly, as devastating it's 3:14 am I wish they would forget so the thunder wouldn't bring the storm as fast as its name brought fear and it moves as the wind that brought me closer to the window is it that hard to pretend it never rained? it's almost 4 am I wish I wasn't so impotent but I just stood here wishing and wishing and wishing it's 5 am and I did nothing

[thoughts-of-a-dying-poet]

eyes

that mouth full of pretentious small talk avoiding questions that once mattered behind those green eyes someone lies that lash carried by tears, as they came painting that strong face - made of glass behind those blue eyes someone cries that look that frightened, still distant glance seeming lost in the melody behind those brown eyes someone dies

[thoughts-of-a-dying-poet]

mirror

hiding like a child who's eager to play and hide and seek although it feels that you grew you're still hiding from the truth still seeking it feeling all you feel flows like water descending from those blurry eyes painting your face with the colors of everything you lost control of and those thoughts come up to play again drawing with invisible, never-fading ink using your head and body as a canvas and making you do the artist's work it's red now it's nothing it's everything blaming you blame yourself, right? why would it be anyone else's fault if you're slowly losing yourself? you hurt you're hurting congrats, you did everything wrong again! and yet you get surprised because no one expected anything different than the mistakes you insist on making and making and making and breaking and falling apart crying that's all you ever seem to do, right? you know it isn't going to make anything better you know people will ask and your answer is nothing but a smile drawn over the enduring tears you were bottling up inside of your shallow heart they come you cannot stop you cannot make them stop they fall as slowly as the blood that resulted from your self-made masterpiece it made you proud it disappointed you and later, you're ashamed of this piece you made still, it doesn't stop you from wanting more breathing you really wish you wasn't if only it ceased you would be free the lack of air would turn you into dust and so you'd fly away and be forgotten hopefully forgetting how selfish of you was to ask them to forget you could simply ask for forgiveness and they'd give it to you as fast as you gave yourself another reason to disappear but you told them to forget like it was a simple thing to do like it would make their lives any better (and, hell, it would) do you want to be missed? do you wish you never meant a thing to anyone? no bonds or ties connecting you to this world and no pen to write your name on the list you soon become as empty as that blank piece of paper that lies on your desk is it better than having no paper at all?

[thoughts-of-a-dying-poet]

image

has he ever seen himself in the mirror? behind all those tears a sea of them there is someone sad looking for a place to hide searching for his image has she ever found herself outside that lonely room? emersed in darkness of which the room was built there is someone scared looking for a way to escape trying to remember her image have they ever known who they really are? in a world of insecurities and screaming and crying there is someone lost thinking of giving up collecting pieces of their image

[thoughts-of-a-dying-poet]

hanging

quiet room cold and shattered heart of hatred mind of doom this is the day I'll kill myself as pictures fall from the shelf with no more hope it won't be long and this becomes my last sad song empty box full of dreams and time leans on ticking clocks this is the day I kill myself while those books fall off the shelf with no more air, the rope hangs on jump off a chair, then I am gone windows close does it feel right? here ends the night as the sun rose this was the day I killed myself my body fell and hit the shelf without a choice, hope went away I never mattered anyway

[thoughts-of-a-dying-poet]

Raging

I am angry as I’ve never been and I just can’t seem to calm down thus this agitation may be the death of me or just another excuse to screw up again – that’s what I always do

I am angry because I’m hurting and I end up hurting others as well but I never meant to harm anyone but myself

I am angry and this rage I’m breathing could stop if I wasn’t if I gave up

I am angry and I wish it stopped I don’t want to fall apart but I want to break

I am angry I didn’t know how it felt to be like this I’m still trying, though

I am angry and why does it hurt so much?

oh god, I’m angry

[thoughts-of-a-dying-poet]

2°

Como se enxerga esperança na sala onde a escuridão é fria verdade é mais um medo de criança e a vida é um pesadelo que se cria?

A sala faz com que a multidão,  mesmo em meio a rostos familiares, torne o que é afeto em solidão  e atire o que restou de fé aos mares

Estou sozinho? ou conto com as vozes, apenas que por meu nome chamam?

Há um caminho e a morte que, a ti condenas,  entristece os que amam

[thoughts-of-a-dying-poet]

Small pieces of wondering

All I ever did was wrong since I began to lift this weight  though, now I can’t hold for too long and my friend Death seems to be late now I just wonder why  I didn’t kill myself a year ago 

All you ever gor from me  was guilt and I just wish I could be good enough to set you free but I’ll die soon, I guess I should now I just wonder why I didn’t kill myself a month ago

I’m sorry for fucking it all up ‘cause it is my fault and I don’t want my mistakes or my fall to kill someone or make them lie now I just wonder why  I didn’t kill myself a week ago

I’m sorry for letting you down and despite those kind words you say I don’t deserve no clap, no crown, no smiles; this is my last day now I just wonder why  I didn’t kill myself a day ago

All I ever did was saying “sorry” even though these vain  apologies just sound like playing  hide and seek with death again  now I just wonder why  I didn’t kill myself a minute ago