Utopia of a Sober Moment Before the Hysteria

Keep spinning, singing about the last evening
when the pain of mistress finally finds the end
without care about who gonna listen
about the seven sins
and the burn of the last cigarette into your skin
drunk, keep drinking
no head itch, if it really have the kind of importance
ignorance is bliss, so let’s pretend that we miss
the last ten seconds of soberness
mess, don’t have a carpet
to put all this mess below, oh no
the warm of the flame
of the ignorance is leaving
and giving us the moment of clarity
that living into the utopia
is the worst part of our inner hysteria…


Secret poem about Dispair

I drove for one hour or two
drink a whole pack of beers
just to stop these tears
thinking about what I have to do
cut the thin strings of fear
leave behind the feeling
of be someone
good enough
to fill the holes
that you have in your soul
but I already know
I not good enough, even in thousend lifes and tries
to give what I most want
love…pure love…only love
to you…
Another beer,
another atempt to stop my tears
the lake is the witness
the smoke of a heavy cigar
is my alibi, my only friend
who tries to kill me, but also, give me strenght
“one more breath
end another one next day
maybe tomorrow gonna rain”
I don’t care, already rain inside my chest…


Like 80’s

So soft, so 80’s, like a immense loft
so careless about what gonna break your heart
so colourful, so dark, completely lost
like a poem inspired by a goth
broken like the corners of my heart, hurt, hurt
scream, help, a puddle of blood
a broken pencil, no ink in the pen, we must improvise
this declaration must shine
like the neon sign, like neon
our mind gonna exploud, great thud
tick tock, the clock won’t stop
end of 80’s
what we miss?


The Reason

Maybe one day
you will finally understand
or maybe…will be too late
but…let’s try, anyway
the reason that I drive so slow
when you are with me
it’s because I want more time
with you by my side
telling me about your past
laughing over me, cos how silly I can be
just to see
you smilling
the reason that I sleep so late
it’s cos I can’t hear your heartbeat
and your hand to hold, when I wake up
from a suicidal nightmare
the reason that I change my style of poems
from depression and suffering
for love and pretty things
it’s cos I found in you my muse
hope…this is not too late…
to you understand