When speed was still
They grab me by the shoulders with promises of life and words, that ended by the painful stabbing in my chest… By the knife… and by the death of your dream, my dear…
you… who never lost hope in my recovery, and the salvation of my soul through the silence of God…
you… my sweet pearl of desire… my canvas of thoughts, my darkness in the grey of existence…
you… precious, tender you… were left alone…
Because the pleasure of being alive is slowly drifting from my senses – and as Orpheus is my star – so mistake is my fate…: Prophetic and fallacious…
The gothic meadows we calmly walked by as three, and the family we dreamed… were never real, nor disturbed by indifference…
...They stole my speed… and I was left still…
But alive… Alive to the useless routine and tediousness of life… Alone with you…
So… with all hope… I urge thy to kill me, my dear…
…and with tears… you do so, for the pleasure of angels and demons within the fable…
Death will bring us closer…
…And in death… our son still lives…
…Our son still plays…
1 comment:
Mesmo que continues a defender-te do cargo de produtor de arte, dizendo que a escrita não o é, não tens como fugir ao titulo de artista, quando concebes uma cena assim... plena de arte...
Qual será a desculpa agora?
Absoluto...!
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