Smoke this life

I got to smoke this life
the shape for every dream is so undefined
the shape for every memory is yet even more boundless
rare, like a shifting vision of events
happened over and over between changing ages
across people and places
meaningless, so to let know,
it was happened, someday, in the past.

I portray the quiet and silent, smoking life waster
while the life itself smokes away from me
I have trown these memories to the night sky
many others still remain
every day from now,
every day since the day I was born.

Each newborn generation
begins the cycle,
being pointless to fight time
youth is a very short moment
captured in our minds to be recall
in a shapeless memory
that helplessly will smoke away with the dreamer.

Anger

Im not angry at the world anymore,
the sigth confuse me, challenge my patience
but it dont turn me mad anymore
like it used to
cant take me again, cant burn me again
I dont mind to get hurt,
I have loose the fear of humilliation and loneliness
the fear of rejection and hate
Just stoped controlling life to enjoy it,
my volcano is no longer filled with fire.

No, Im not mad at the world anymore
Its sound is so annoying and yet,
there are times when I sing and goes away
happens that I killed my pretentious self all over the place,
I had the rage to crash against it, now its gone

My anger self dont wear fists for good, dont even exist
only today the sky is a wide clean scape
scape to the streets coming too tight for breathing
too restless,

So, I rest in my toughts
I rest on you, and the pain and anger is left with the world,
I rest with a couple of songs and some flower hide along the sidewalk
I rest with the shinning green of nature
and then I stop feeling angry,
like I used to,

No, Im not angry with the world anymore
I had forgive myself,
I had stop pushing me along with the rest of the world

Now, Im going to rest on you,
Im going to rest on your love,
Im going to go to wherever comes from
that peace you give away
to all and everyone who stops falling slave
slave of anger.

my personal monster

A monster lives inside me
all day and night make noises
shake my body and soul until
the monster raises
raises over the fears
over the guilt and shame

it claws my ears with evil sounds
and hardly gives a rest to my thoughts

There is no medicine to kill his whispers
to stop it from grow and grow
to stop its hunger and lust
its bitterness, its sweat away from me

I do own the monster
I would like to have a word with it
but he knows no languaje
he knows no human ways
he wont say a thing..

Its feeding itself,
its fed with a piece of flesh
it drinks my blood and sometimes
likes to try my tears

Once in a while I use a smoke to get ride of it
and when the smoke fly over my head
and make funny shapes,
I remember its a poison
its makes me come to death too
so sweet smoke, can do the harm

Other times, I wanted to kill it with liquour
and I had a glass or two,
and another round and round
and I killed my brain and speach
and the monster got bigger to wait for me
next morning

Who created it, who gave it life..
whom made it breath to stop me having fun.

I was a song

I was a song,

the kind of song you sing when sad

sometimes, I sang it so loud and the thoughts hunting me

were left somewhere forgotten

No matter how much effort I could use to ease the pain

the song were only buying time

while I was keeping on, performing every dutty with no reward

some day It became too much for be taken

And the song lost its strenght

while I steped off my numb world

whithout any friends to care for me

anyone to talk to me

anyone to know about me

Who was I, Was I real?, was I just one crazy dream, I was only alive in a song.

gross beauty

Standing on the kitchens floor,
i was playing the god of bubbles
it was one foamy dream
made of labour and silence,

Not even close to hit
I was the gross beauty
with strong arms and hands
like some beast animal
moving the white mass, with growing rage
and some love
while the hot mass burned my hands back
and the fumes poison me
holding a fight to ignore
the bleeding hands of that exhusted god,
beated human,
pushing to make alive a humbold round soapy bar.

Under the rain

cant find you,
you will find me.

I dont see you,
you will see whats in my heart.

I cant talk to you,
you keep saying things to me everywhere.

Im hungry,and thirsty,
alone and clueless.

I wander around guessing on things,
while you are the one that never doubt,
you sustain every destiny.

Im not a star,
a sparkling light treasured
for theose whom or what made them rise to shine

You decide If im going to shine or not.

I cant touch you,
but the need to see your face one day
lives inside me, its a flame burning my nothing

Even know,this is the best me i can perform,
perhaps is not enough for you
maybe Im not meant to stare over the skies
but down here only dust and jewels,
we like to think of us as a gems
because we dream too much
our trace is sand vanishing, shapeless,

You are my deepest affection,
you born between my heart and soul,
I was bor from your love and patience.

You rest my toughts
blow my sadness away,
by the wind going to the infinite.

You are the time keeper
kept me growing and becoming old under your love.
Like the ancient cypress
reachs the sky on strong roots
You are the roots, the compass and harmony of my savia.

You are the only truth laying over the blue reflections on the sea.

And the believer,the master of the faith,
while im just the doubter, the unfinish questioner
and sometimes Im the little hope that
borrow pieces of faith from You.

No life for someone like me

There is no life
for someone like me
who wander the paths of hell
in between nightmares waves

I was born among the dry people
and I think I will die when they eat my last bones
the cruel hiena sleep besides me
is a heart less animal from the dark side
a twisted mind, selfish and eager for low pleasures

there is no life for me
or roads to other journeys
Im the job´s encarnation of God
but Im still not good enough to play his part

Im burning
Im buzzing with the flames of hell
dancing over the knife sharp
and my blood is fallen to the unknown

But is too late
too late to get away

Im going down,
Im going visiting mocking birds of the night
I can only unplug myself
shut down my conscious to be blind enough
to sleep my body and feel nothing
in time, every pain will be sleeping with the rest of me