They

I'm fighting to stand,

While still my will

I throw at the shelf

I aim out my heart

And tame myself

Not to thwart.

Why do I swallow it?

Can't I scream it out?

Can't I write about?

You don't know the gloom

Of laying alone,

My last candle blown

At my dark room.

The fire fought,

As the image of someone dear

Messed my stomach

Wasn't yet an ache

As now

That's opaque.

Why did it stop hurting?

Seems like nothing's longer real

While I can't feel.

There's someone inside me who wants to hurt me.

Gotta get on tracks,

Gotta mend my cracks,

Gotta stitch me whole,

Gotta get all mend

Not to let them out

While I fight to stand.

Why are you so sad?

Why don't you shoot yourself?

Paint the walls red.

My candle burns eager

Of my abstinence

Like fever

Melting me to bone

Mistreating my stone

Desolating me

Till I'm numb.

Why do I feel so much?

They haven't stopped knocking

At my brain's door,

Haven't stopped talking

To my fragile soul

That forgot by a second

I need a hand

I have to stand.

You shall never get to know her true self

As she walks behind your steps,

Silently, slightly,

Not a trace

You can get a hint

On how she hunts while walking,

Sober, soberan, wielding grace.

Even though she'd show up

At shape and color you're able to sense

At her minimalist self

At volume and flesh,

Her skin fresh as innocence,

It's ethereal.

Like an opaque storm she unfolds upon you,

Thorn flesh and naked conscience,

You stay when you shouldn't

An run when you couldn't

Be cautious of her deepest self,

Yet you see

At her feet you're not brave

To stand it,

Fearful, thoughtful,

Can't help but crave.

So she lets it,

Like destiny would stop at her laws,

Waiting for her

To move her pawns,

She walks behind your steps.

There's a joy on her walking,

Following, captivating,

For you go unnoticed,

And the world behind you glares

The beauty at your back

While everyone stares.

There's an inner grown smile

As you stop for the traffic

And complain a bit

And the lights are lit

So she can keep walking.

You wouldn't dare think how it'd hurt

To let go of her skirt

When she'd been your sister

For there's something on her

You just can't get

She's the joy of a night

You can't forget

And the comfort of a day

You felt peace.

She dances behind your back

To a song you'd never listen,

Wind and moon as testimonies,

You stare at no vision.

Her dress is sure more colored

Than you can remember.

It dresses her, honored,

As the fabric floats to her steps.

Her mortality feels like a race

And it costs you

For she walks behind

And you're further lost.

Desperto o cadáver que assassinei

A qualquer momento alguém vai chegar.

Às luzes acesas, enxergo o que não há,

Rastejando,

Me impregnando devagar,

Feito sombra disforme,

Do breve momento de lucidez

Em forma de corpo,

Mesclado, monstruoso,

O delíro afetuoso

Da última vez.

Em meio a meu delírio, alguém vai chegar.

Se eu apagar as luzes,

Elas não se apagam.

Tens imagem de febre,

Até que eu sucumba

E do fundo da tumba,

Meu silêncio se quebre,

Calado, quente,

Talvez não aguente,

Porque achei que se não pensasse,

Não sonhasse, enterrasse,

Não seria o escuro tão visual

Ao que penso e sinto e fujo de medo,

E me salvaria apenas

Ir dormir mais cedo.

A qualquer momento, vou acordar.

Não tendo certeza do que sucedia,

Se invadiu-me o sonho

Da noite ou do dia,

Tenho ao sono, uma imagem cética

Estivesse a luz ainda acesa

De minha chama frenética,

Descansasse bem ou mal

Com tua visão,

Não há saída,

Não há sonho manso

Ou refúgio,

No descanso,

Se me és assombração.

Tanto faz se acordo,

Pois pensar já não me cabe

Até que a porta abra

Ou o dia acabe,

Sou refém carnal

De teu motivo obscuro,

Teu tímido murmuro

Bienal.

A qualquer instante, vou parar de pensar

Porque me tenho escondido,

Tenho usado de escudo

Uma desculpa que já não vale mais,

Porque já pensei em tudo.

Quando acabar o frio,

Estarei vendo,

Ainda tremendo,

Que em meu cérebro vazio há incivilidade,

E te clamo, conjuro, invoco,

Terror que me invade. 

Eu não quero ser lida

   Eu não quero mais ser lida. Sou mestre das linhas e não há uma palavra que escrevo e não controlo. Não há uma palavra que não seja gatilho, direto, indireto, consciente, inconsciente, as palavras são máscara de meus anseios. Não há um dizer que não signifique o que sinto, uma vírgula fora do meu desejo de cativar, e cativo, da minha sede de que um olhar não se desvie.

   Mesmo tentando, não quero ser lida. Quanto menos sentimento transpiro em palavras, maior o sentimento que escondo. E quanto mais escondo, mais entrelinhas se fazem de minhas palavras, quanto mais escondo, mais arraigado em meu subconsciente, mais eu temo, mais inconcebível se torna que algo exista, e por isso de nada me adianta escrever para ser lida - já não posso ser lida.

   Quando lidas, minhas palavras brandas e suaves não doem, não maltratam o papel, não me fazem remoer relendo, e tenho paz. A serenidade que me entorna é tediosa. A beira do abismo que já não me seduz me foi mais envolvente. Dançamos como um corpo, sujos, espalhando nossa agonia e sangue pelas paredes do meu templo, marcamos a pele e veias do meu altar como chama que espalha. E comparada à beira do abismo - que já não me seduz - a serenidade, a calma que me abraça é como calamidade. É a urgência de saber que não sou, não pertenço à ordem, a um centro. E saiba, se o abismo já não me seduz, entenda: o que desejo, e o quanto o desejo, é o topo do que não tivemos.

   Quando escrevo palavras limpas, as escrevo como uma súplica. Meus desejos são sujos. Portanto, a quem me estiver lendo - não leia. Eu não quero ser lida, quero ser devorada. Quero o desespero entre entregar a mensagem ou não, fazendo - ou fingindo que faço - o maior esforço possível para não entregá-la. Porque não poder dizer nunca me impediu, e entregar a mensagem que não escrevi é como o vento, intenso, espalhando minha chama como uma tempestade.

To my Sun

Ever since you rose,

It's been all right,

I dropped my fear

To have you near,

You made all bright.

Beyond my efforts

To keep you in deep,

I couldn't dismiss you

Nor omiss how I'd weep,

In disguises,

A grief

You'd turn into relief

As the sun rises.

Still I'm eager,

For in a gentle way

You melt me to my brightest side

As unhurtful fever

With the light of day.

Is it a new dawn,

A light of forgiveness?

I'd like to say I'm

On it, to do it right

This time,

To lift this ton

To you, my Sun. 

The Swamp Queen

She walked through the forest,

No purpose propouned,

Curious and careless

She followed a sound.

She stepped through the woods

And a dark swamp was found,

Wet and warm

Laid the mud all around.

As she walked in,

Vines kept out world bound,

A safe sanctuary

The swamp had compound.

When she bathed in mud,

Her heart beat aloud,

And with moss in her head

Was the swamp queen crowned.

Letter #1 from Erika to Mr. W.

My dearest W.,

I know I haven't been in touch for years. I've cut all tangible connections we may have had ever since you found out what I did, and since I'm now sending you a letter, it is fair that you get an explanation about it, even though it's a short one, since this is not the reason I'm sending you a letter.

I went after them because I needed answers, as much as I don't think any other human mean would bring us justice and peace for what they made us go through. And the answers were all wrong answers, so I assumed the world wouldn't need these rotten people. The only regret I have is that the fear in each of their faces could barely compare to the pain I saw in your eyes that day. Should have made them feel more pain.

Just you know that even though our paths seem excludent, I have always cared for you from afar. I'm sorry if you think I was cruel, but this hunt was what kept me awake when I would rather play dead, and as you grew to your flavorless, simple and lonely life, I grew to like being like this.

The real reason I'm sending you this letter is that I can't care for you anymore. At least, for a while, and it consumes me not to be able to. It seems like destiny likes to threaten us both in the same doom we are both not guilty of.

Can't tell you exactly what happened, but you must be aware you can become a target for some of my kind or even worse. And if you trust me as I did trust you in the past, I didn't mean to involve you in this shit, and I swear over my coffin¹ I'm innocent.

Be you still shocked or not, mad at me or not, still you have to be safe. It's been one month since I've been away, but you have incontestable proof that I don't give up on going after the ones who hurt me. Use this information - and the proof - at your favor. I'm already getting things done my way, but have in mind you're worthier alive and unbothered, and have in mind that anyone who protects you will have my kindness when the moon's light brings truth to the damned.

Answering this letter would be pointless. It will never reach me, since this person doesn't exist. I'm sorry for the trouble, and I'll put you up to date as soon as it's safe.

1. I know you paid me some visits. No other person would leave me a blue narcissus.

With some of the love that remains me,

Elena,

Whom you've once known by other name.