I hate the middle, or holding back or letting go.

my soul hurts more than a very wrong grammatical answer (in portuguese, because I admit that my english is terrible).
Nowadays, in my life, everything is different, distant and impartial. My friends have distance romances, effusive acts and indie bands. The good times? I don't know where they are, and I can only miss them.

I have been selling my hard times

for packages of cigarettes


A: I want to corrupt you.
B: Please.



I lit my cigarette and waited until my fingers became yellow.
I was looking at the horizon, sat on the sidewalk.
Where were you?
I waited for you, for your love. Waited for a comfortable word, for a pleasant hug, a familiar smile. For reliable ears which I can whisper.
But you didn't came, the love neither. No word or hug, or a smile. I never whispered in your ears.
The friendship, that I felt for you, kept me company until the end of the cigarette.
I think that the only thing I met that night was the loneliness.
And I, well, I got up, and plunged again into indifference, as usual.



Please, please..
cut for me some papermemories, papereyes, some paperloves, papericecream, paperfriends, paperhearts, papersmilies, paperbeer..
so I can burn them more easily, so I can easily be burnt down.




I drink coffee like water,
I still never know what to do
I still without know what to feel
I still never know what to say.
I still don't know how to get out of bed in the right time.
But I think that something are changin
sometimes, I find myself afraid of this change, but I don't want stop it.
I always change, but this time is different. I'm maturing..
It's not pretty or endearing,
it's inevitable.
I'm a realist, I'm indecisive, individualist - as usual
I still whisper you secrets, I am still looking to be saved.
Yes, I'm a little bit frail, but is normal
sometimes I am so strong and sometimes I'm weak.
But I don't show it always.
My soul hurts too, but i resist to cry.
My heart is ugly, but I know that it has utility
I think sometimes words losts their meaning,
sometimes everything is grey
and sometimes the city is sucking away at my soul, with my friends, my desires and my feelings.

Inside me.


cold cold look

I was a shy boy, hid behind books, with my headphones.. sat in the same bench at school, in the breaks.
I had friends, of course. A few friends, it's true, but real friends. My school was normal, nothing happens, was a shit! I liked that place just 'cause I was in love with a girl. It wasn't a love like the american movies about school, with an impossible love with a superpop girl.. it wasn't. We were friends. Ok.. Not real friends, but.. you understand... we had talks. She was pretty, not very very very much, but had a peculiar beauty and was intelligent.
I remember one day, the signal of the break played and I went to the patio, to my bench. My friends went to the library, so I was alone. My headphones were playing Smiths and I was reading Jack London. Don't know why I turned my look from the book and looked at her. Only to comfirm her beauty? I don't know, I never used to look to her very much..
I think she looked at me. My friends laughed when I told this to them, but.. I have my doubts. That looking must have been for a boy whose was sat in the sidewalk in front my bench. She told me that he was handsome.
He was stupid. Fucking stupid.
I thought I should say hi to her, but my doubts.. She seemed to be waiting for someone and I didn't want to be a hindrance.
The signal for the classes played, but I lingered look at her, until my friends called me to the class. When I got up, she walked to me to give me a hug and whisper in my ear that she would miss me.
I never saw her again.
That night she wrote in her diary "'cause I feel like nobody loves me" and killed herself.