The Young Baroness

She tried to find the exit sign but oh, there was no sign of it, anywhere. She expected to be sure and reassured but oh, it was all for naught. He knew her all too well and, while she might have eluded others, he could see right through her veiled secrets. She was so tired of never letting go, it had been a long year since she had last put her head on the pillows to actually get some sleep.

She wondered if he was just a hallucination caused by the lack of sleep but again, she knew it was for naught because he was all too real. She screamed and ran trying to get out but there was nowhere to go – trapped in a daydream inside her own mind, alone with him.

Lord listen to love, she is losing life, the alliteration of all the things she won’t, wouldn’t and didn’t.
She won’t listen, she wouldn’t love and she didn’t live. And for this we are all forever afflicted.

The Slaughter of Oakstown

Blissful tears and alacrity,
The shadow in the horizon told a story,
Unfolding itself as it drew closer
- A myth not a day older.

They could see the silhouette,
It was a man, considered lost by then.
They could see his worn out hat,
The wind tried to take it, to make a catch,
Alas the figure was alive and full of breath.

It kept coming closer and closer,
Close enough to distinguish his face from the darkness,
Close enough to see he had returned.
Close enough to see the murder on his grin,
As the drunk fought around and poured down gin.
He got too close, revealed too much,
They thought him mad, out of touch.

They shot him down where he stood,
A lost member from a lost brotherhood.
To this day, they await his return
But there is no silhouette to be seen,
Just ashes in an urn and killers far too keen.

Seven Feet Apart

The story is not yet final,
It is going to be okay,
Dry your eyes,
We’ll make it through with canddlelight…
Please…
Dry your eyes.

Please understand where we both stand
How far and how close
We are not one of them nor one of those.
Dry your eyes,
No more tears, no more lies.

Dry your eyes,
I’m still with you,
No more lies,
Far apart and near too.

My book is closed yours is not,
Keep writing with what you got
And dry your eyes.
Our memory never dies.

I rest in peace
So, rest, please.
Dry your eyes…
Dry your eyes…
I love you.

The Professional

Every day in every way
Is not the same
Is not sane
Insane.

Wear red
We are ahead
Blood in your bed
Every way you are sad.

Demons we make
Life we all fake
Sky fire might
Bring daylight.

Same
And not.
Won’t tame
That which is hot.

Different in every way,
For another day.
The Sun rises
We all set.

Childhood Warden

Wear your mother’s lucky charm,
There is fault even if there is no harm.
Screening away superstitions,
Timeless premonitions.

You believe in ghosts,
Spirits and hosts,
But you don’t believe in me,
That is your right, you are free.

Traveling demons and spitting giants,
Empty kingdoms of father tyrants
- I’d break that which chains
And free what remains.

A mother’s charm!
Father won’t harm,
Sleep away, slip away…
To keep monsters at bay.

I did the best I could
and even more I would
If you believed in me,
You’d set yourself free.

Ride of the Valkyries

Look up and he cries
“Death upon you!”
For they were lies
The things you’ve sworn true!

And so they come from the sky
Dark wings make shadows fly
As they pick and choose
Who is to come loose.

Valkyries ride the night,
“-There must be a way out!
-There isn’t. The end is nigh.”

They ride the hills, they ride the valleys,
A fell swoop and down go the galleys.
As the television alone speaks…
Of death the room reeks.
All gone.
And so are you.

How to Create the Holocaust

Another night ridden with insomnia, another dream that tells fantastic tales.
It showed me the terror under the roof I lived, with maggots coming through the floorboards on a house that knows no affection, a house nobody wants. A house so consumed by an amoral pest that it had to be shutdown, closed forever, leaving my guardian dog inside, on his own. I cried for him but I still walked away. I heard him bark and snarl. But I just… walked away, waiting for the cars to clear the path on the crossroads so that I could walk away.
(more…)

Sleepy Hollow

Owe me nothing
Just a possibility
The morrow will bring
That which we need.

The key is in the door
For dreams with no gore
Don’t ask if there is a God,
For I am Ichabod.

Heartless Trees

I hope everything goes sour,
A stale taste in your final hour
As you gasp for air
But it is not there.

They may believe but I don’t,
I can’t and I won’t.
Ignorance knows not my name
I’m no dog to be tame.

Blissful smile serenading lies,
Come close so I can sever the ties
Total lockdown is a damnation
I’ll end this relation.

You choose your path
So let me take a breath
Because mine is tough to climb
- I know you don’t mind.

It is so wrong but a scream
It was right but a dream
We end up in different homes
In the end, trees without pomes.

Gloom

I remember when I was young, I’d enjoy the nights doing my geeky activities, reading books until my eyes couldn’t stay open… and, as much as I don’t miss those times I find myself currently stuck in a rather terrifying situation. The nights I once loved for the silence and peace now come back to haunt me… they remind me of how alone I am, of how far everyone is, of how much I miss being hugged or having someone care for me. They truly make me realize that I’m all by myself and… I am afraid. Afraid of knowing that I can have a great future, afraid of not accomplishing it, afraid of so much, having so little.
Gosh… I miss human contact… I’m stuck in this block of concrete, within 4 walls that know all my secrets, my bed is a mess, my mind is clear. I know what is wrong and yet, I go and just write a song.
On the other hand, I don’t want to sleep. My dreams have been… beautiful, as of late, and as much as it shouldn’t, it is scary that I wake up and want to go back to the dream, live it instead of the reality that surrounds me. Is my life that dull? Is the lack of female companionship that great? Is the lack of laughs so overwhelming? Is the loneliness so terrible? Yes, it is.
I try a Placebo, but that is no cure…and The Cure is not working. The girl? The girl was never there. And I’m lost in a forest.

A Dream I just Had – Literally

I remember a camp, seemed like it belonged to the army – but not a regular division. We were young in there, we were nothing but teenagers, ours worries and our hearts did not lay with the training we were given. We were tasked to perform maneuvers with perfection, quite a few of us however would coreograph artsy dances and present it to our capitan, a stocky middle age lady who I’ve almost never seen smile. In the yard were we performed, there were a few buildings grouped together, almost an army-slum. There was a japanese man in one of them whom I’ve met – he was blind and while I can’t recall the exact reason, which is as odd as it can be, given the impact he had on my life, I knew that simply being near him saddened me a great deal. That man had experienced great losses and still lived, somehow I felt shame of myself for how I dealed with things.
There was a woman who lived in the nested building, she had curly hair and seemed to be in her mid twenties, maybe her thirties. She was pretty but had also suffered a great deal.
One day I was talking with the blind man about things of the world and she came to us and gave him a doll, a memóir from her childhood.
Like a knife cutting through my heart and making me tremble, my eyes filled with tears. The blind man touched the doll’s face, saying it was a pretty doll… he turns to her and asks “But what is this on her face?”
Tears.
Who had made a doll with tears? I don’t know, but by now my own tears rolled down my face. I had to get out, I had to not go through both of these.
I made a run for it – and became a deserter.

I wasn’t alone in my escape, a close friend, a special lady, joined with me – she knew how to give me new life and… I’ll be honest, I have no idea why she would do that, go to so many great lengths and sacrifice her own life for mine… but I was glad. Glad to have someone nearby, to be able to fall asleep in the car knowing that I would wake up to find her still there. It was as bittersweet as it could have been.

As we travelled, I remembered of events of the past as if they were happening right now – silly things, like trying to get someone a present… I remember going into a store, seeing things with a huge discount and phoning home, it was up to 90% off. I relived playing with friends – but it felt very lonely. I remembered an event that seemed important, the reason for me being a desertor… we were invited into a radio station, me, my folks and others. I was scoffed by the people there though as a mere ‘spectator’ and that I shouldn’t speak. I was angry, but more than that I was saddened – why did I keep getting that feeling that I simply don’t belong? I remember exiting the radio station and entering a shack in which I once studied. Took a look at the work laying there, grades were better than mine. I opened it only to film mind blowing drawings, strong reds and dark ink, just how I like it. It was a noir tale too. The characters are now vague figures in my imagination, but I’ll never forget the colors…

As we went from town to town, we discovered that every plan has flaws. We made a stop – a final stop, with this car at least. We ditched it in a parking lot, I took off my military helmet, finally rid of it, broke a piece of it a nibbled, as if chewing bubblegum. We walked the ramp out of that parking lot, avoiding the cameras. As we walked, we reached a side-door in an immense building, we heard incoming voices and panicked, pressing the doorbell button. As quickly as we pressed, we were taken inside – not in a hostile manner, but as if applicants for jobs. We were asked for different names than our birth-given ones and we nodded, those would be our new names then. We took an elevator with the two man who made us panick in the first place. Upon reaching the floor, we saw what apparently was an industry all by itself, making metallic parts, welding and all things concerned. I applied for a job as a welder, having had some former practice and knowing the geist, I could probably get through it. The place had an open-sky… I remember she hugged me, clutching her legs around mine as I spined her in the air – I’ll never forget her smile.
A young and very cute lady came to talk to me about the welder job, asking if I was there just passing by or to stay…
Turns out that place was more of a community than an industry. Things were not perfect, we would see giant rims and tubes, people pass on by train tracks – but damn it… it was better than the military – it felt like, more or less, I belonged.

Kill the Lights

God bless the words, my eternal companions, the ones that understand my catharsis, that will heed me when I tell them that what is show in a certain song is not what really is there. The critics and comments don’t fly over their head – my words know me, from a to z. They know I’m deeply romantic, not the foolish kind that is blind and dull, rather the kind that dreams of adventure, conquest, the one that dreams with the Legion Étrangère, with deserts too big for the mind to conceal, romantic as in believing in love and… well, perhaps I’m blind and foolish, I’m not sure – glad that my words are. They know me.

They will be content listening and arguing metaphors and quasi-philosophical remarks of a movie I’ve just seen. We will have a conversation and I’ll not feel like I’m talking alone. Alone. That if the funny thing of words, no matter how many of them you have, no matter how extensive your lexical library is, you will always be short of something – maybe it is human nature, but they can never fill the blank left by missing hugs and kisses. The embrace of the words is a lone embrace, one done in a dark room while talking to oneself, where the only light is that of the computer screen, brightly in the shroud.

I guess it is just like the song says… Kill the lights, because these children learn from pain, danger, shallow and intoxicating cheap trash, it feels right so they dive in, they take the bite, self-medicated, asphyxiated, all they want is to feel alright, and nobody is there to show them the way.

I don’t want to be a dull ragdoll, I’m not willing to sacrifice my eyes, my soul, for button-eyes, making see a made-perfect world, because it is far from perfect, it is a hellish place where the only way to survive is to remove one’s eyes. Because if you see all the horrors, if you carry all that memory, you go mad, screams boil underneath your skin, your body aches without any injuries for only your heart has been hurt. The web they weave is yours to choose to walk or not – and if you find a key to lock their world, you and only you will have the option (and the choice) of locking it away forever. Find your own well, a hole so deep that you could look into it and see starlight, throw the key in with a heavy rock, bury it all away, their world won’t live past this day.