Meet me in the nearest mountain

August 17, 2012 § Leave a comment

Bumped trunk in the forests’ grass

I see no road to ride

and sides covered vastly by the seems

 

Travel wide and far

stoically heard those words

kept your feet on go

 

And it shifts, o, it shifts

bursting down the ladder you climbed

praying for someone that never hails

 

Meet me then in the nearest mountain

where the shatters are mine

and falling is fine

 

Meet me in the nearest mountain

hanged, petrified in one only place

swinging the chorus of life

 

And in the nearest mountain

one will you find me intermittently

I calmly await

staring the calm lawn

far away from where you are now.

 

– Key

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Fakedox

August 7, 2012 § Leave a comment

From those lies I carry in my fingers high

smoke is exhaled throughout lacerations

carry hybrid rations for its mind

traveling from body to body, side to side

smelling as bad as your mouth once tasted.

 

I venture to ignite my hand in its direction

towards what I see but I do not believe

punching dry, those fists of mine,

closed tight as the Pope’s secret domicile

in a wooden box made of iron melting in summertides.

 

Billions points of view

none shall raise an eye

Blabber apocalypse and evil minds

we already live the doom we fear

it is scalding for a reason.

 

The feather touches the dirty ground you pray we kiss

millions circling in desperation

with no self-respect inborn laid soul

the wealth is your paradise.

 

Few perceives although I see thy eyes staring at sides

squinting the flanks in which your fruits keep dry

as the cocoon in casket you once were

even if still empty you still are.

 

It is with no hatred I tell this tale,

the fakedox is cramped inside,

and, locked,

Fearing it is never coming out.

 

– Key.

Gashed emotions

July 31, 2012 § Leave a comment

Who am I trying to pretend?

I say myself

sought skies

it never answered me nigh

it is never lucid

I felt alive again.

 

I pretend a silver blade

it is made for my mind

for when it decides

for when it starts to recite

one pellucid knife

sheathed though prompt to slash,

it is told to my mind.

 

One of these days it took a train

and from the noise formed

could not stand to pretend

a gust with dust stationed in me

one no ceiling could shield.

 

For I never bought this blade

no cash could lay its dirty hands

and those blister shall slowly heal

until then I keep skinning the hopes

skinning lucid in every train.

 

But, o, fear I feel

the blade someday will lose

its sharpened silver edge

and my mind will smile at me

bragging its win

and torn apart from logic once again I will be.

 

Thought-Laceration.

The coffee in my table awaits me

it is getting impatient

the mug remembers me

the blade still has its sharp

and it has been cutting some emotions

I get from getting on those trains of mine

 

For some time it will keep gashing,

cutting,

bringing down emotions,

until I bear no more.

 

Key.

I see the morning awaking

June 30, 2012 § Leave a comment

I see the morning awaking

Its lights blues in my face

Was I close to faint

My eyes I scratch as I become sane.

 

A stout man

Full of dreams

I had born in me.

 

Although I lay

in my berth

Hundred times in days

But I come,

O, I come,

Undone as the morning goes.

 

I live the black

I snooze in gray

I awake in blue

I die in noon.

 

I see the morning awaking

But it is time

I’d rather sleep, tired.

 

I see the morning awaking

I wonder why

I look so deep in the sky.

 

Thinking thigh

Clinching mine

I see the morning awaking

deep upwards in sky.

– Key.

Wind up (unfinished)

June 21, 2012 § Leave a comment

So we wind up

we crash the bones inside

we turn all hides

and we go

 

So we wind up

let fists come by

and lose its mind

but we won’t

 

The plains are calm

the woods are down

and the blame is yours

 

(unfinished)

key

never-standing words

June 20, 2012 § Leave a comment

meet me on the street

and we walk on our own

to let our reaches keep

and heat the words on my lungs

 

slowly breathe

pace your rhythm into mine’s

the lawn is calm tonight

and it seems to be a while

 

your step is far

I hear you’ve been lacking

what you’ve got alone

 

my knowledge is in coma

and my optimism is in trash

but you look to me as if I cared

 

summers long gone

took what’s worth of me along

(but) I waved bye with no tear in eye

 

sometimes I think it snaps to me

in a shrouded train

hitting the back of my mind

 

quickly I answer bitter

and I recall the refusal aliened

the proud is tall enough

so you won’t collect its fruits

you won’t reach it at all

 

your tongue is sour

but your soul is loomed

and there is room

for you to be full.

– Key

The Line

June 18, 2012 § Leave a comment

They line up straight

waiting to be fired

a beautiful line

figuratively dead

as it is physically alive;

 

They breath slow

and not in excess

as they feel it is waste

to feed ones already dead.

 

The pits are dug

with no funeral

they are dropped dead

in the long infinity of black.

 

Their ceremony is the line

formed by statues

with no features contrasted

with no guilty surpassed.

 

Alas,

A moment of silent echoes every direction

the line is silent…

 

One of them smiles

he says to himself:

Over time, I’ve drugged my life

the weight I’ve put in my shoulders

should be long dispatched at last.

 

I’ll be long gone

But I’ll be fulfilled

As I make sure

I’ll harm no more.

 

Please grave me in dirt

with a light stone over my head

write that I meant no harm

write I had been born for that.

 

I do not know where I am headed

or even if I am headed somewhere

It will be like life

As you ever said

I will take care.

 

For what else his mind thougth

I am afraid I cannot put in words.

 

His way to come

the smell of powder

he is long gone

buried with the stone.

 

For every single soul

there is determined cleanse

there is unconditional weightlessly

there is true freedom

even if for a single second.

 

For the man I describe

his cleanse he had found

or he thought he had

and no smile is useful as a mask

when you finally regret time;

But he is one of much in the line.

(xx/xx/2010) – Key

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