torpoir - Tumblr blog

[torpoir]

há um beijaflor que me visita por conta de um emaranhado de fios, deixado no canto que cintila azul, imagino que como uma bela flor

observo há uns dias o pobre beijaflor nada conseguir em sua visita esperançosa vigoroso em sua inspeção pelo turquesa que balança com os ventos

eu decido retirar os fios, um resto de nada azul nas minhas mãos, e perco a visita do ilustre beijaflor mas lhe dou a verdade: nada havia ali.

ou será que havia?

na próxima manhã, o beijaflor ou não me visitará ou me deixará, confuso, triste onde haverá ido seu azul cintilar?

na próxima manhã, terei de inventar uma nova ilusão.

[torpoir]

why is it impossible to betray my body the chemicals refuse to be misleaded to be arranged in a different way, to a different outcome to a different feeling, a different reaction -- nothing works.

i tried, i begged, i held it all so tight stopped breathing, slept through it, created a distraction, a meaningless wrath simple and complex pain inflictions

just thinking about it, bawl eyes, coarse teeth, raw throat, so idiotic. stupid and bloody.

how am i able to fake it for show and leave the mauling to my own eyes???

how are they not able to see the black hole i become whenever honey glazes my heart?

[torpoir]

how can you, that prefers to feel the breeze even in this ice weather, even in the ability to get warmer, staying in the cold? in the thought of getting warmer and staying, doing what is comfortable, i give up. and stay here. for the warmness is addicting, so i moderate.

how can you, in the face of malady, stand this poor view? in the thought of getting tender, weaker, i take all. for the strength is my sin.

how can you, in my face, lie? in the thought of your image, i leave it be. for i am out of love, since excuses ago.

[torpoir]

o altar

assim como a lua se entrega, quero fazê-lo. seu ritual de tanger sua borda deliberada e demorada, e depois vir inteira, se deixa engolir e entrar cálida no mar. quero te dar a serenata do Noturno girassol, me encontrar com o gancho pesado nos teus olhos e deixar meu tato ser teu vassalo, profanar teu templo a teu pedido e com teu amor terreno, canibal hedonista, junto de paciencia medida, imergir nas ondas, gritar do meu lugar sitiado, e enterrar-me nas bordas. quero teu espaço e teus arredores quase um sacrifício, todo em teu nome, ecoando o meu.

[torpoir]

there's been more and more of you lingering around me lately and questions of why i turn every trace down and strained pauses, and hard eyes, and horizontal nods with a sigh.

it is just a shame i can not mention, boiling, bubbling up my flamed, double edged sword adorned, torn apart body.

i am afraid of you lacerating my chest that if i am ever witness of your voice, i'd be instantly cursed for eternity that if i am ever to touch and interlace myself into your skin, i'd be poisoned with a breathlessness that nothing could be ever so special and immense as the presence of you.

i fear the beast i'd become to satiate my hunger would you be the sacrifice to the sacredness of my mouth? the dried sea, open, fragile and unholy that would show my heart could you ever warmly keep it layed down on your soul?

i am scared you'd never open me and ravage and sign my death terrified if it never happened repeatedly with every sight of you worried about spoiling the chance, the evermore

so i hold on to the blade. ash my body. answer a lie while keeping all i want in my mouth. froth with it. swallowing any crave and dying with it.

[torpoir]

o que é isso que tem no teu nome que me enche a boca?

quando eu penso menciono, recito, até antes de sair o som que fartura é essa que preenche? qual é o recheio que tu usa? água na boca sempre que eu rolo a letra pela língua

logo eu, julgando graça e sabor de fonema pinho, pacote, jubarte, galante escolhidos e guardados no coração. logo você, com os fonemas estranhos beijo, caju, perjúrio, cádmium pra cada som, uma nova fome.

que feitiço é esse junto do teu nome que me põe no deserto, acorrentada, sedenta, mirando adiante o oásis mais abundante que me rende incapaz se não o repito?

e repetindo, retorno ao deserto. a espiral deliciosa e delirante de ir e voltar em cada sonido um novo desejo, mais um detalhe cravando no meu peito, enforcando minha garganta, morando na minha boca.

[torpoir]

tools for the careless

hold and linger. stretch and take a bit more. is it patience that i need?

squared and tight is a me caged into my DIY prison-mind. invisible are the boundaries, though so tight are the binds.

i have given up peace a long time ago. no wind brings me any hope, though i wait for the whisperer, i should expect exactly what i trade.

truth sets free only for some. and in freedom, i keep and loiter and take. but it is not enough.

in freedom i acutely ask myself what is it that makes them stay on the horizon? when there's an ocean to be drown. how can I give up? when I am the only temple here.

in freedom i laugh at the thought. im binded. the whisperer may never come.

to gut the fish or to learn to breathe? the strangled choice is but a trap: taut binded, i dont want to choose. tormented, i entertain the scenarios.

patience is just time chafe. what kind of passion can blend this bore? what humanity can paint time worth?

[torpoir]

its so hard to talk these days there is too many code there are codes in my house, different from those at work and when they intersect, a weird feeling. clashing. conflicting worlds.

shadow casting is the standard at home I am but a humble mage at it, still working the magic. so hard to get right, such dumb codes.

At work, things fry. All is code. All can be seeped and become some cool logic. I am but a junior at small talk, small code, slow frying… At least I fry deliciously.

So much code I wonder about language. Not enough time to verbalize, a privilege. I fry slow, guess not my time to cast shadows or create logic yet.

[torpoir]

Magic in the stillness Is the human charm. Into the mirrors, there it is Just look. And is in looking that death lives So daunting, seducing, calling Just like doors. Just open them. And is in opening them that death kisses In arching the back And watching a sliver of you. A breath and a view worth dying to.

For Olivia Who had just the right pair of eyes and stared at the drifting life, consumated my soul

[torpoir]

é tão difícil assim ver o nascimento? eu penso, querendo ver um pouco mais. é difícil, há tanto tempo eu nem paro há pouco tempo pra isso. uma falta de paixão. um desleixo. uma desculpa deliberada.

é dificil sair da corrida infinita. do eu e o outro e o espelho e sei lá, a barata. uma dá atenção pro besta, pro estranho. outro dá atenção pra economia, pro poder. quem eu ouço?

eu consigo vencer esse jogo? essa distância infinita do quase-Deus da existência imortálica que me prometeram? me lembro como é fácil morrer mas como é doído nascer.

não existe isso de viver sem o desejo, sem a lua, sem o pão. mas que besteira é ver nascer, que decoração. mas que desgraça é essa esperança, que contradição.

é preciso parar demais pra ver nascer, mas eu tenho desejo tamanho pela pressa. uma paixão que parece um sacrifício.

[torpoir]

there's this naked woman beside me, no. in front of me, whispering and hollering, mundane and mysteries or maybe the unknown

i watch her in this mess, grumbles and light, ash and flowers, i pay her fullness of my confusion

she watches me, in a madness of everything she feels my eyes are triangles and my mouth a seeker "who-what are you" i think? i say? her eyes mirror mine, her voice is fortune "what do you think?" she smears joy on her face

"are you death?" i weakly whisper, fear marking me "if so, youd know why i am here and shall not fear" singsongs the body ?

"then are you a blessing?" i ask like i have no faith "if so, would you be so constrained within my presence?" the woman questions whilst her eyes seem to reveal something

"then what are you? hope? a curse?" "if you want me to be soothe or misery, i will. but until now, youve only made me to be doubt."

suddenly i get the madness. i rampage "then is it my fault now?" the woman mirrors me and i cant but tremble a tear cause her voice is recognizable like breathlessness "it is what you make it be. do you want to carry my damned burned body on your back?"

i have a face that writhes and a voice that calls another "i don't understand..." and now in honey voice, she cooed "then im here to make out reason on you"

"are you truth?" i ask like she can water my thirsty throat "dont you think we're past this?" she stares her freaking eyes at me holds my doubting face, kisses my creased forehead

"you cant know all. undress yourself of that." she says, whispers near my ear, screams inside of my heart. ash and flowers fly as she disappears through a blink

[torpoir]

funny business mind

it is a very funny scene the me who is and the one who looks for being. why did i look for being? it is quite the ridiculous thing picturing it, double voices? but i dont really care. i am, when not looking for being, thus, a thirst, a madness: who? whisper wicked... i only dislike the question when it pushes a fever that doesnt sweat, that eats from the inside. a portal known and worked through. is it wasted work to befriend the impostor? i dont like to think so. while i spend some time on it, ill call it "self-care" another white lie, because truth is i'd like to live in another's head. (for the sake of being) but then: anothers is never me. (thus i can never look for being)

[torpoir]

"And from their union, (we) emerge, Made of twilight and dawn, Encircled by their love"

Hymn of the Dawn Tablet Seven, Broken and Lost to the Solari, Lines Unknown

Dearest touch is their love For is them I stand and live With unnerving energy, Endless orbit, The bond, the pursuit, the future I stand and live through them. As twilight and dawn breath in unison, I am again. Two bodies swim in the sky Concedes a fascinating vision From a power unknown Such a driven, staring love. I am, everytime They bathe in light and dark, A bead of hope.

[torpoir]

eu gosto muito de dor que inflama. de dor que dói de verdade, e de mentira de dor que não tem previsão e de dor que eu já sei que vem. mas não tenho cuidado algum não é impulsividade, não sou assim. só não sei. conheço a dor como processo e gosto do resultado.

mas isso machuca. e eu não sei cuidar. daí não é mais dor... não tem faca, nem suor algum. é só uma tortura seca e sufocante. não entender me tortura mais.

e o descontato, o silêncio, mais alguém se sufoca assim? a sua lombar também se retorce toda vez que seu raciocínio foge?

tem muito tempo que eu não sinto com o coração. mas conheço vermelho amargo e (fant)asma há anos.

[torpoir]

"Poetry is a luxury behaviour    Like crying because you're too clever and nobody understands you " Hera Lindsay Bird, Speech time

i do fancy poetry because inside words live spirits that become magical: it is individual and global, simultaneously. luxury or not, i fancy, a heart, or half of it into it. crying i fancy not, figuring well put words: much better, much easier. then, aint clever a word id use for poetry? for nobody undestands me; all is saved within me. but dont thread on my path, “for it is a maddenig blabbering monologue” i’d say. what matters is if you listen to the magical tingle of poetry, and alone or not, touches your homeostasis, and feet changes it's own steps.

or maybe just hum. yeah.

[torpoir]

golden eyes are for those who hold greatness;

doe eyed, do you hear me? i beg you pardon, with the king of god's fire already on my eyes; with guilt already gnawing, i know it'll eat me alive. but in death, i'll remember you. the high hearted is you, and for that i can die! the genuine truth is you, and also is the true care. don't they feel it, my white-armed angel? are they blind when honey drops, not from the riches and tables, but from your very eyes? and they shall never spare a glance at me like this, raged or in pure blue... will i create a war on your name? for it means homage, i put it here for no more burn on me. but for that would you burn me, sweet? on your lands, walk aimlessly, forever still, your hold weigthing on me, i guiltily wonder, so faintly at the heart, would you watch me? would you save me? do not blame on me, my dearest dont ever mirror my malady; that i wish for you, for it means what i do. and if your breath hinds, while this stings your hands, my soft skinned, in the spur of this very instant, let me lay waste to thee, my lovely and linger, for time is an illusion, but do not slaughter the me inside of you, as for eternizing you, it's my greatest act as much as the creation of regret. in everlasting brilliance, undying divinity, you are my peace, my love.

[torpoir]

eclíptica

no final, dezembro é sempre o mesmo. os dias se enchem fácil, não é? o sol é mais quente, mas não para mim, pois a luz é mais azul, há tempos. eu não chego a ver neve, essa muito distante, mas é sempre bem frio. assim como a faca. assim como o café. eles também caem. o dia come a noite come o dia. se vive. se vê. se vai. e ainda sim, sem prometer, sem esperar, é o mesmo. próximo dezembro, quando se abrir a cortina, o sol não vai sorrir, eu prometo, quando se desligar a luz, hoje já será amanhã, e não lembrarei d'ultimo.