quarta-feira, novembro 10, 2010
It's the heat of July that keeps me pacing up and down, and now the pulse in my wrists. Sometimes I wonder if mankind has drifted off the evolutionary road and is blissfully on a collision route with a longed for Armageddon. It's the heat of July that makes me imagine you are not gone, just absent. That you'll climb through my bedroom window, staggering on the windowsill, and whisper my name.
I must warn you, sweet prince, my sleep is deep, and it will take more than a whisper. You'll have to try harder than that. Throw a rock against the glass of my ice skin. I promise you, it won't shatter it. Scream if you must, sweet prince, shout out, awaking the sleeping city and start the dreadful rumors that love and happiness tend to cause. Let their tongues roll out in sharp razor paths I'll blissfully ignore.
I am losing my mind here, sweet prince, with your inertia. Move me, before the stiffness of disillusion embraces me, leaving me white, still and dreamless. Hell! Drag me out of bed, down the stairs, don't let me pack, take me away surprised, confused, dazzled, bemused. But do it now, before nothing can be done.
25/06/2009
I must warn you, sweet prince, my sleep is deep, and it will take more than a whisper. You'll have to try harder than that. Throw a rock against the glass of my ice skin. I promise you, it won't shatter it. Scream if you must, sweet prince, shout out, awaking the sleeping city and start the dreadful rumors that love and happiness tend to cause. Let their tongues roll out in sharp razor paths I'll blissfully ignore.
I am losing my mind here, sweet prince, with your inertia. Move me, before the stiffness of disillusion embraces me, leaving me white, still and dreamless. Hell! Drag me out of bed, down the stairs, don't let me pack, take me away surprised, confused, dazzled, bemused. But do it now, before nothing can be done.
25/06/2009
Criado por Isménia @ 5:37 da tarde 
