Portrait

This ability of observing all this ugliness

And regurgitating it as plastic descriptions

Sometimes comforts the agonising paranoia

Of visualising one such shameful tragedy

Build these artifacts sweating from grief

As beautiful portraits drew with my blood

Like paintings depicting despicable nature

It entails the contradiction that feeds me

The evil nature of a sad only-peace of mine

Had I chance to choose, I'd pierce my eyes

Once, how good is it, wearing this crown?

Queen of a vomited self-disgrace honesty

When decomposing, bounded to rot slowly

Place all the portraits on a dark dusty shelf

To stare like a little puppy at its little kid

Begging fondling to my gloomy treasures

Ask me

These feelings for you are insensible

Psychotic and out of control

It's like choosing the one same thing

For each one of my million wishes

Ask me, and then I will give you

The heads of your enemies on a tray

Maybe cut open my own veins

Dissolve in acid to be absorbed

Ask me for any humiliation

Also all my tears and sweat

You can ask me harsh submission

Or even extreme self-violence

Ask me vulnerability and exposure

And if you want, drink all my blood

Ask me, and as long as it's mine

I will give it all to you with delight

As long as I don't have to pretend

On the condition that I truly have it

Or at least that I can steal it for you

Dash to loud and clearly say it

Dare to be my man, who asks me

And whatever it is, it is yours

Repetition

The head in a tiresome repetition
Alternating among these thoughts
Excuses for those discontentments
Factors which justify the inaction
Or a meaning for the insatisfaction
Our torment for all their memories
Which don't even touch our reality
But which hurt us for its probability
What pierces us sharp spiking inside
Is insignificant spark in their minds
Silly reference dragging itself along
Like one such biased miscalculation
A cautious punishment of our body
Making sure we'll tie in cooperation
Guarantee that we go on at any cost
Once we're not a goal, but the mean
We crawl like these humiliated slaves
Reaching our peace in short intervals
In this torture cycle that moves us, as
Eternities between relieve and relieve

Culpados

Essas culpas que assumo
Não isentam sua parcela
A pele sua que arranquei
Sem dó nem compaixão
Estava mesmo putrefata
Deu-te uma nova chance
De crescer com saúde
Pois se é suja de sangue
A mão que te levanta
Por que então comes
Esse pão a toda manhã?
Se a força que te bota em pé
É um fruto rubro envenenado
De egoísmo coincidente alheio
Por que não foges, nem que for
Pra se arrastar com dignidade
A língua te infla em virtude
Da tua impotência inerente
E então atira flechas de culpa
Em mim e até às paredes
No entanto, nunca no espelho
Chicoteia não a si por sua prisão
Resultado de inércia encrustada
Mas sempre só a mim, tal qual
Saco de pancadas do pequeno rei