She has run from a halfway house
She said
Run away from a boring life
She said
And right now she's falling down
Again
Now I wonder if she'll live
To see another night
'Cause I am sick of shadows
I wanna see the sky
Under the moon as the days go by
And she dies
Now it's morning
And the stars
Are falling from the sky
Into rain
Na Toca do Raposo... in the Foxman's lair.
Dark and gloomy as a burough should be.
A blog about life, love, poetry, biscuits, my bohemian wanderings in Coimbra and other stuff of no particular interest.
All sprinkled with sincerity, humour and a LOT of red red wine.
Tuesday 12 October 2010
Tuesday 7 September 2010
Precociously interrupted dream
A misterious girl dancing in the middle of a village square alone.
Autumn leaves all around.
Raising them in the air as she dances, making my nostrils feel the smell of a comming autumn.
Scent of wet dirt, the first drops of rain after a hot dry summer.
Aroma not fully covering her own scent, of strawberries and tart cherries.
White skin as the moon, with a permanent smile.
Shining between long dark hair like a peaceful night.
Startled expression like a deer when you notice I'm there.
You turn around and it's nothing there but a breeze.
I'm awake.
Autumn leaves all around.
Raising them in the air as she dances, making my nostrils feel the smell of a comming autumn.
Scent of wet dirt, the first drops of rain after a hot dry summer.
Aroma not fully covering her own scent, of strawberries and tart cherries.
White skin as the moon, with a permanent smile.
Shining between long dark hair like a peaceful night.
Startled expression like a deer when you notice I'm there.
You turn around and it's nothing there but a breeze.
I'm awake.
Wednesday 1 September 2010
Arrivederci
Arrivederci
I am caught unawhare
this fish has traces of nuts
and a single strand of hair
That is no longer fair
The longer hours
the multiple days
Arrivederci
to my orchid
I've been told
that the old
beggs so
for the gold
on the looking glass
So, goodbye
to screams
and goodnight Irene
The song will wisper
but you
won't hear anything
I am caught unawhare
this fish has traces of nuts
and a single strand of hair
That is no longer fair
The longer hours
the multiple days
Arrivederci
to my orchid
I've been told
that the old
beggs so
for the gold
on the looking glass
So, goodbye
to screams
and goodnight Irene
The song will wisper
but you
won't hear anything
Saturday 28 August 2010
London before midnight
"Broken frames
Shattered glass
Like a monochrome film"
Burial place of souls
Back alleys crowded
Salty sand and soul dissolves
Out of control
Ask your senses
It's all over your broken body
Ask your sense
It's the same lies London runs
Out of focus
Blood and rythm
"As solid as a liquid monument"
Dark clouds
Promises of never coming rain
On the tied frame of a corpe
Technology
Machinery
Humanity it's all the same
Steam punk mice
Ask your senses
It's all over your broken body
Ask your sense
It's the same lies London runs
Night and day
What's the difference
Night and age
Based upon the same
Random order
Contorted, distorted
Doesn't make any difference at all
A figment, a fragment
Angular, circular
It's all the same
Ask your senses
It's all over your broken body
Ask your sense
It's the same lies London runs
Ask your senses; ask your inner, common sense.
Shattered glass
Like a monochrome film"
Burial place of souls
Back alleys crowded
Salty sand and soul dissolves
Out of control
Ask your senses
It's all over your broken body
Ask your sense
It's the same lies London runs
Out of focus
Blood and rythm
"As solid as a liquid monument"
Dark clouds
Promises of never coming rain
On the tied frame of a corpe
Technology
Machinery
Humanity it's all the same
Steam punk mice
Ask your senses
It's all over your broken body
Ask your sense
It's the same lies London runs
Night and day
What's the difference
Night and age
Based upon the same
Random order
Contorted, distorted
Doesn't make any difference at all
A figment, a fragment
Angular, circular
It's all the same
Ask your senses
It's all over your broken body
Ask your sense
It's the same lies London runs
Ask your senses; ask your inner, common sense.
Tuesday 17 August 2010
Looking out of my window
[incomplete]
Strong winds up on the stratosphere
touches not the world below
touches not the filth of the human living
scratches the clouds into shreds
allowing for a waning moon to peek
to witnesss the death of the senses
the depravation of the heart
the putrefaction of a dead hope.
Strong winds up on the stratosphere
touches not the world below
touches not the filth of the human living
scratches the clouds into shreds
allowing for a waning moon to peek
to witnesss the death of the senses
the depravation of the heart
the putrefaction of a dead hope.
Tuesday 6 July 2010
Halls of the blind
Since my last poem sucked, I wrote an old poem for old friends.
I can see what you see not,
visions milky then eyes rot.
When you turn they will be gone,
whispering their hidden song.
Then you see what you cannot be,
shadows move where light should be.
Out of darkness, out of mind,
cast down into the halls of the blind
I can see what you see not,
visions milky then eyes rot.
When you turn they will be gone,
whispering their hidden song.
Then you see what you cannot be,
shadows move where light should be.
Out of darkness, out of mind,
cast down into the halls of the blind
Global unwarming
Red sun sets over the cemetery grounds
dying sun lighting the black with red hues
lighting the dried blood with healing fire
See the oceans rising blue
with silver lining drowning you
your living corpse
of heartless desire
It hurts even more to be alive and awake
Wondering the world with a sun ever present
That burns you but will not take you in it's fire
In a sea that won't let you drown
among tides of pain and doubt
In this silent tide We're driftwood passing by...
Hear the faint ticking of the heart
Under the sun, burning on an open chest
Ticking, the sound of life itself
whispering with a desire for death
And the world keeps being torn asunder
From the abandonment
From the ones that refuse to learn
From the ones that care nothing
The beating heart at the tearing asunder
The beating from a heart of stone
Watching us die all around, drink the blood
to fuel the loss of your divinity
Friday 2 July 2010
Back in business
Oh yeah, ye cunts. I'll start publishing my poetry as soon as I get the exams a med school over with...
Thank you Keilantra, Herr Wulf and Mark Tyrell for the support. *drinks another shot of black Vodka* I FUCKING LOVE YOU, MAAAAAAAN!
Thank you Keilantra, Herr Wulf and Mark Tyrell for the support. *drinks another shot of black Vodka* I FUCKING LOVE YOU, MAAAAAAAN!
Monday 1 February 2010
Religion
I found out what my true religion is. A variation of budhism that doesn't for me to be singlely vegetarian. That believes in the spirit/force that makes everything come together and that unites everything. That sustains the survival of out spirit as energy, and that it can leave our body, for it belongs to the universe. Tha tells us that vices are bad, and the only way to fight them is to accept them, like budha taught us...
I'm a JEDI!
I'm a JEDI!
Sunday 24 May 2009
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