half hollow

May 22, 2013 § Leave a comment



blabber shit

meaningless pit –

most of times

I’m sane,


anywhere around


I laugh

I’m sad

I’m happy

I’m fucking satisfied

but instead

I’m a surface of null

a copycat

of the shit around.


I don’t –

I’ve never –

care for meaningless

if I’m or not

it just doesn’t matter

at least no more

than things around

seem to.






O, if I could get rid of it.



I show that me,


like a black hole

I’m something

yet nothing

But then –

when the sight trespass –

what am I

to someone,

but a fucking black hole.

I’m never attached



it’s smiles


pile of shit

everything you please

that’s how I get by.


five and mad

May 17, 2013 § Leave a comment

I stare at the clock –

it is fucking 5 AM.

Hitting itself,



And I’ve got nowhere to go

I hear no thoughts

and bear no light

but it’s still so dark outside.


Come to think

it is not I who stares at the clock

it is the clock watching me

and it never judges

although everything it sees

every second be.


It channels me –

wakes me up,

puts me to sleep.

Although it’s never so simple.



Death of death

April 8, 2013 § Leave a comment

Death is certainty

and sureness’ in always in doubt.


Worse than death

Is the death of your certainty.


When you feel perished

But you’re not;

And there’s no heartbeat

Though you can easily breathe.


In a pit somewhere

The limbo hole

Can’t look down

Can’t look up

If you’re flying or falling

No one possibly knows

There’s no foward

and there’s no back.


You’re part of an eternal loop –

A loop of yourself.


And you’re lost

In the vines of your mind.


I hope someday you can at ease rest.


In the endless pit

we feel the lack

No sorrow –

And certainly no faith.

The songless pit

is the death of death.

Strings and Plugs

April 5, 2013 § Leave a comment

I never found my glasses

I spit my soul here and there

Round around as if in a forest in hell.


But I’ve tried.

Hell, I’ve tried.


I want to feel the cold

And heat myself up with coffee

All the day long;

But I only feel the hotness

Though I heat myself still.


I have no rear mirror to look back

So I have to turn back my head

And a gut feeling warns me

Never to walk while looking back.


I see now the strings I tender

I never meant to have them perished

And never wanted it to leave me.

Sometimes it’s not my decision to make;

Or so I guess.


So if a string is weak

and ready to die,

Let the plug go as well.

It’s useless without it.


I’ll pull it off

Rather than trying to fix it afresh.

And let it all be.


As renew is a fake word –

It conceals the past time.

And pretends it is a whole new road.


Somehow, and that’s optimistic,

I’ll find another new string and plug;

And back at start line.




August 19, 2012 § Leave a comment

In those strolls you see the larger trees, those tall ones and they are up high. They don’t touch the sky but at least they’re higher than you. You start to think whether you should become a tree, but then you realize you’d be a small bush after all. But this made you forget everything. Shit. I wonder what should I be thinking. There’s always something to think about, your mind always needs to defecate. One way or another.

Some of the days in the summer tires my lungs off. And you kick the sheets of you in a rage. “If I was a skeleton I would never sweat”, you think. Shit. Lost myself in random thoughts again. I walked. That’s when I saw those trees. I don’t want to be a tree after all. No.


Have you ever wondered how the words were invented? Do you even imagine how complex it is to weave grammars altogether and butch it over and over till it becomes something. If it becomes something. Never knew. I wish I knew so I could fill up some words in my thought. Maybe I could teach this. And the kids would be “wow! really?”. But they wouldn’t really care, and the one who did would quickly forget. I wonder what kids want to learn these days. Then I could teach them all, if I knew of course. Shit. Lost myself again. Hell. How, how can I keep doing this. There is this woman looking at me and probably waiting for me to say something. She doesn’t look impatient, though. I wonder why. I’d be. I bet that’s because she’s pretty enough to never become impatient. Guess I’ll try.


“You have a different look in your eyes”, she says. I tell her I didn’t understood. She repeats. I tell her that I listened, I just didn’t understood. She laughs. Laughs at me. This grabbed my attention. I always notice the smallest, smallest actions. I like the details, they’re not for everyone. I won… Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.

The woman says that sometimes my eyes they seem empty, but full of doubts on the whole. I guess that if you’re full of doubts then you’re half empty. She says maybe. Maybe. Maybe. Maybe. What did she meant? There’s nothing more indescribable as Maybe. That’s why she used so much. I might have to start too.


In the cold days the engines of my old car sometimes dies. Dead as a shot bird in the ground. Shit. She stares at me with those eyes of her. Her eyes are different than mine, I guess. They lock me. Hell, they do. Eyes that seek eyes and hunt them, hunt them so fiercely. A pair of lions seeking the pack’s food. Wonder if her eyes feed of other eyes. Shit. She calls me names. Honey, darling, dear, love, honey, honey, honey. I wish I could call her names too, I just don’t know how to do it. I tried. She laughed again. That laugh. I was starting to laugh. She said some other names too but I don’t remember. I don’t remember. I don’t remember. I don’t remember. They say if you repeat many times a lie that you start to believe it. Because I remembered and I just didn’t wanted to. So I don’t remember anymore.


“You and I. We’re different. Different from each other. That’s why we’re here”, she says. I closed my eyes. She’s right. Damn. She’s fucking right. I never liked people similar to me. I hate them. People always seek perfection but their concept of perfection is their own self. Disgusting. I never understood. Sometimes it is better never to understand. Shit.
She landed her hand softly into my knee and with the pinky slightly she stroked it. She asked about the surgery. Have I ever told her about this? Doesn’t make much difference know. I tell “It’s alright now”. Funny. She says I’m funny. I was never a funny man, not that I knew. It’s hard to get me smiling, I think I look stupid. I guess being funny is being a little stupid. Shit. Why someone stroke the lover’s knee? I didn’t understood her.


She lit a cigarette. She smoked pretty. Smoker women, if they do it right I mean, have a sensuality that drives me crazy. Crazy. She did right. Every fucking gulp of nicotine. Every one of them. Fuck cancer, I like to see her smoking. That’s something she said to me once. Fuck cancer. I’m not able to change this. I don’t really care. I will probably die before her anyways. She told me this as well. Fuck you, why’d you worry. You will die before me. She never took his eyes of me. Normally I’d be feeling weird. But I really felt nothing. Nothing. She tells something. Sorry. She muttered something. So I couldn’t listen to her and she could listen to my voice saying “I’m sorry?”. Woman like to hear this. Hardly. Or at least this kind of woman. She knew I didn’t meant what she wanted to meant, but in the bright side (for her) at least I said it. Well, I wouldn’t say it otherwise anyways. Then she smiled and said “Ascension“. Hell, what’s with this woman. I started to think why she’d ever wanted something with me. Guess she was slowly lurking me into a trap. Maybe. I wondered how many times I had been seeing her now. I’m lost in my own time. Shit.


So she repeated. Ascension. “Ascension what?”, I stupidly ask. “It’s where we’re headed, honey”. Those fucking names all over again. I liked those names. Come to think, she never used my name. Only once, I mean. The day I met her. It was a sunny day. I told my name and she said, “sorry?”. I repeated. And she repeated right after me, almost in unison. She tricked me the day I met her, come to think. But she tricked me like she never did. Whatever. She started to explain we look like ducks. Ducks. We walk with our two legs aimlessly, and our hands were tied in our backs, as the ducks wings. I never understood her. That’s why I liked her. She wasn’t good with the metaphor, though. Never was. “We should walk with our arms free and that, my dear, is the first step for what we’re headed”. You make no sense, I say. I always told her that.


In the autumn sometimes I get drunk while grabbing old leaves. My pa says it’s a weird hobby. It’s not a fucking hobby. I don’t do it because I want to, I just do it. Really. Once me and my lover done it on the garden. Just once. Fuck. I can’t get her out of my head now. Shit. Shit. Shit.

All her crazy talks. I listened and I didn’t even knew why. I’ve been trained not to listen. I’m a man after all. I guess that doesn’t work in a hundred percent rate. Not even a shot in the head works in a hundred percent rate of death, why would this. I should be more smart. She longed and talked minutes about this ascension of her. I told her to leave the ducks alone, to use another metaphor, but she couldn’t. She kept talking about ducks. I kept against the idea. Told her she was crazy. I always tell her this and she always accept it. Not this time though. It went for several minutes. “Look,” I said, “I really have to be going in an hour”. And I really had to. I hated work. She hated work as well. I think that’s the most similarity we had. She worked in an office or something. I forgot where I work. I forgot. I forgot. I forgot. So we forgot the words (and the works) and went to love. Not real love. I guess I didn’t really loved her, as she didn’t too. I’m not sure. I guess that’s the perfect relationship for me. I think.


She never gave me birthday gifts. Never. The gifts were given at random days. And it was never something I asked, or commented I wanted to buy. I was starting to think that she was the one trained not to listen. But a week ago I came home and there was a puff duck on the top of my freezer. This duck had his wings teared apart. Beneath his was a note saying If we don’t free our wings, we end up loosing them.

I guess that was her so called Ascension. Shit. But only maybe.


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

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.



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,


bringing down emotions,

until I bear no more.



Where Am I?

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