consuming

it has been

a long time since i was last asleep.

a long time since i last could think
of any matter other than thee.
a long time since i last dreamt
of any other figure or any other thing.

a long time since i last desired
any other lips.
long time since i last longed
for any other hips.

too long - since you - it seems,
that i last
lived.

SmSx

it may sound trite, i know,
but i'd like, for once,
to kiss you in the middle of the crowd
and see no odd eyes,
or fear no odd thoughts.

just have you, for once,
(and for all)
as whole.

delilah

i just don't know what to do. we lie here in my bed, while i crave for a cigarette but there are none left in the house. first thing to buy in the morning: a brand new, friendly, comforting pack. anyway, as i was saying, i just don't know what to do. it is a so good, yet so bad situation. it kills me to hear about her lover while she lies here next to me, perfect hair, perfect breath, perfect everything, so soft so smooth so graceful. but she won't kiss me again.

"it was a mistake. a drunk mistake. uncomfortable, yet very funny." she tells me about that very day and laughs. she laughs like it was very funny - and it was, but it wasn't - can you understand? - it is not so funny now since it consumes me, day and night, body and mind. i guess i lost 30 pounds already, i can barely sleep or eat. it just consumes me. and she keeps talking about her lover, how lover doesn't like company in bed but she sticks around anyway, to watch him sleep. it's disgusting, that dumbass she calls lover doesn't like her in bed with him, how can anyone not like her in bed, her long, perfect body, so warm and sweet? it should be me, it really should be me.

and she goes on, talking about mr-dumbass-lover again, she can't just shut up about the stupid motherfucker, what a waste of words from such perfect lips! i try to make her change the subject, saying i need a smoke, and i am hungry, what about a pizza and the pub? there is a great jazzy quartet playing down there this week, upbeat songs until the last costumer leaves... what about a beer? i sure as hell need a drink right now. who doesn't? well, i guess she doesn't understand the drink-thing, and i think she is kind of offended but i really don't care. maybe if she gets angry she'll leave and go try a visit to mr-lover-boy uptown and, since it is so damn late, he'll get angry and they will fight and break up...

i don't know. i guess they won't. i am desperate, i just don't know what to do. maybe i could kill him. i could kill all her ex-lovers too but i guess she wouldn't like me then (since i would be in jail). maybe we should talk... we really should talk. i break the silence by grabbing my coat, taking her by the hand. okay then, so king's pizza then? a large half-garlic, half-pepperoni? she cracks a joke about bad breath and how she won't kiss me with the garlic smell and it's a bad, bad joke. fucking heart breaker. i crack a even worse joke about never kissing her while we are sober and she doesn't get the subtext and laughs. she has a really pretty laugh. i forgive her in my heart for ignoring my in-love-bullshit for the sake of our friendship. in the end, she wants the best for both of us. but it hurts, it fucking hurts so damn much.

she notices my vague/hurt/stupid face and entwines her fingers with mine, and i find new strength to go babbling about the pub's quartet and she gives me little condescending smiles. such a pretty smile. i hope there is hope. we reach the bottom of the stairs and i - FINALLY - get the guts and vomit the oh-so-necessary words: hey, girl, you know? maybe we should talk...

it's simple

- you told me it wouldn't hurt.
- i lied.

please leave. i don't want you to see me like this. you know i am not this person, i am not this thing. i am becoming it, but i am just not it. not yet. so please, i am begging you, go! go before it's too late, before i am way past the line, before i lose this last train of sanity i have here. if you love me, go, and don't look back, don't ever come back.

ok, so you're not going. i understand. this is your home now, you have nowhere else to go, all your friends, all your things are in this town and in this place. it is fair. so i am going. no, please, sit down. i'll pack light, nothing else here really matters. i'll leave in about an hour, do you have any change? you know, for that cigarette and for the train? please, please, don't cry. i have to go, i'll go now, i am not feeling very well. yeah, i don't need any bags after all, all my stuff is shit anyway.

have you seen my keys? oh, here they are. right in my pocket. please, stop crying. you'll do better without me, believe me. so, so, so... all this means i am gonna be away for a while, maybe forever. please don't go looking for me, please don't call. if you love me, PLEASE, don't call. don't go asking for me at the bars, don't even bother talking to my friends. they won't know anything. i love you, okay? never forget that. and avoid the newspapers. i may end up there and probably not for a good cause...

you can say no for as long as you want, it's always gonna come against your will. try to fool me, try to fool yourself, your mother and your father... go ahead, swear to god. or else go, close the doors, lock yourself in for a week... it won't matter - it's that overwhelming force again, pushing your body against the wall, tearing your mind in two. accept it, my friend, it's better if you don't mind, 'cause it's coming, it's undeniable and it's unstoppable - there's nothing any natural force can do about it.

it's like a violator that invites itself in, it's your pusher. you can try all you want, with all your will, to say "no, i don't need it. no, i don't want it."... you will end up saying yes, begging for another time, another rush - just a small one - the last one, please please.

it's always the same story. one can make it a likely story, other a really painful memory. it's another web of lies, i tell you, and, once again, you can say you are out for good but you are not, my friend, you are just not, you are neck-deep in. you are just in. we are just in.

gostaria de ter trazido mais relatos. relatos reais, sóbrios, felizes. um diário. mas, obviamente, o alcool permeia as mãos, a tinta da caneta, a ficção sempre tosca assombra a folha... então acabo sempre trazendo umas linhas meio tortas, sem sentido. fica a dúvida.

e fica pra mais tarde.

ps.

vou
com aquela velha felicidade de quem parte,
mas também vou
com a preocupação de quem deixa pra trás
um frágil castelo de cartas.
vou
com medo de que sopre o vento
(da mudança)
e ele caia,
sem meu constante cuidado.

vou, certamente.
mas volto.

(me questionando se tanta preocupação não é sinal de algo...)

we could
maybelieve