terça-feira, 15 de novembro de 2016
It seems so hard to recognize my face in the mirror,
to find whatever can´t be found as I plunge into the dark,
as the wind blows in the opposite direction,
so close to this passive voice as in:
that soul is being taken away by that bloody moon at a given time.
It seems so hard to slit my own throat with the noun chiv,
since life has been invigorated by those menacious clouds,
so I close my eyes to strive for the infinite,
lured by that candle light that is flickering at a distance.