Mental Sanity

My portuguese literature teacher
     wrote three words on the board
YOUR-MENTAL-SANITY
    and she asked us to write about that
    and my mind wandered
    while my hands started working
    and I hadn't any idea
    of what I was writing
            but I did it anyhow
And those red, big, ugly eyes
  of her, the teacher
  were watching me.
with pain distraction
such a dictator, she was
But I shat on that and wrote
with tricks of manipulating hands
and fingers who want to write it
all.
I didn't compromise and she realized
that is all bullshit school program steal of exchanging
amusement.
not?

Love is god from hell

I'm just 3 steps away

from heaven

and heaven never felt

this red-hot

warm

torrid

there are shards of glass in heaven

and they're not the wings

of broken angels

or maybe

just maybe

they are

and heaven has music

Did you know that?

But not ordinary music

No.

fucking sweet music

but hell has a soundtrack too

and the shit is

that sometimes

I can't distinguish

the music from heaven and the music

from hell

nor the shads of glass

cause they're very little similar

and very little antagonistic. Heaven

has guys puking out

as well as hell has them,

happens the same with the poison

that makes them puke, it

is spread on vases and flagons.

They both have instruments too

kinda like im the movies where

the sound if so vague but so

exquisite

so gorgeous but so awful

and people puke

because they're not ready for heaven

but they're not ready for hell either

there are windows in heaven

doors and even flowers

coloured big flowers

with petals, leafs

bottom

and fresh air everywhere

which dizzes me

because I thought fresh air only existed

in heaven.

that's fake

everything's fake when you

talk about heaven and hell

when you try to marry them.

there's no possible marriage between heaven

and hell, they're distincts.

...

It's 3 a.m. and I'm messing with

bigger laws than me,

this petty being.

And I make no bets

about it

I do not play with it

I simply stand there watching, viewing,

wandering and fuck it all.

fuck heaven and hell.

there's just earth and

           imagination

and

         sometimes

  love.

I like women in general

She walks down the road
in perfect scarlet shoes
perched in two narrow high heel plugs
with a scarlet bag
made from leather
that cintilates and shines on her
bony shoulder and her skinny hand
she walks down the road
with two voluptuous scarlet
lips
and a scarlet little dress
that hides the nasty
scarlet panties
into the crotch
which is not scarlet
but the bra...Oh...wait...
there's no bra.
SO she walks down the road
and everything is scarlet in her.
she's beautiful.
I'm dazzled by the measures
of her figure, by the moves of her
limbs and green eyes.
a foxy with green eyes wraped
around in scarlet
rough
kindness
red
so animal.
I watch her but she doesn't sight
me.
we're in opposite positions, in distinct
colours. but we're pretty much the same.
another girl comes by
she's dressed in purple like
a grapefruit juice.
she's wearing purple sunglasses
and a big diamond purple ring.
she talks about this film
where the world is blurring purple
and how she fantasies about
purple rain and purple piss
when she's in bed with guys
and I love her. Oh god
I love her way of rolling up her
tongue when she pronounces - PURPLE
such a tease in only two
human lips
I'm not in purple either
or orchid
or phlox
but we get along well
and we talk about films
and colours
we're similar
and pretty much
almost
the
same
another one grimmes and
glimpses, she's chinese
and has perfect round tits
pierced in the nipples
and she's dressed in white
the insane tone of purity
but she's not a puritane
she is nuts
a nut whore with the nipples pierced
no. not a whore cause
she's dressed in white
the colour of big immaculacy
and this one is smoking
a cigarette. and she blows
the smoke to my nose and face
she makes me inhale it
as I inhale coke, with such hunger
but passivity. and she wonders about
spots. sparkling dots. and I don't get her.
mainly because I don't even want to get her
but we get along so well that she
shows me her nipple later
on, in the the toilets and asks me to lick
it, the stiff nipple of white pale
skin. and after I do it, she weeps and
smiles and says
You're the love kisser
I do a thick smile and kiss her on the
forehead leaving for the next one
who's a readhead covered up in
green leafs of desire like
Eve. her fuckles on the nose
say more than she's capable of
and we do not love without
a porpuse
she said. we do not concentrate on this
particles of life disposal more than only
other being. we do not move without
concentration but unpassionly. we do not
breathe with insignificance, we do not
fuck without protection. I laugh. she
cries and claims that I'm the most hideous
person she has ever met. but we're
both dressed up in green. we're both
desirable and we do breathe
with significance, and we do move with concentration
free of passion and we do concentrate on life particles and
we do fuck with protection. She silences. Her silence
is arsh and quiet. we're dressed
up in green, I say to her.
she snuffles and smiles
everything is still now
it's not about the colours,
I think.
it has nothing to do with this colours.

Love Snores

6 a.m.
and we finally fall asleep
into each other arms and
sexual organs
it is such a combination of
mighty fulfillness
that we dive into deep
unawareness
of what's crawling
behind
around
or under
it is a level
of such tremendous satisfaction
that we loose ourselfs
in the meaning of perception
time
love
says
boiles everything inside this sheets
melts the wounds of two persons who no longer
seem to swallow with hesitation.
she wears high heels
and he wears a tie
long enough tie to hang two necks
heels high enough to support four feet
we bump it all up
the sheets
the glasses
the cigarette boxes
the clothes
the ashes
the screams
the moans
the blood
we're tigers and lions
but we do not bite
we do not play with the hard
solid fatal bullet in the gun
we keep it rolling
and going
until we've came on a rush
rouged
blushed of peel
as the whole city burned itself in
destruction
the wreckage, he said, is the reflection of our alienated love
and sexual tension
we're tigers, we're animals,
he said
and yes
we were all of that
so we lighted cigarettes
and drank shitty whisky
what didn't matter at all
cause we had ourselfs to crawl into
to pour into each other mouths
and we did
not a convencional kind of love,
ya know,
cause he wouldn't buy me roses
he would steal them from gardens
and say "I'm a good neighbour"
and he wouldn't take me caviar
to bed
but instead he appeared with nice hot bread covered with italian cheese on it
and I would eat it all up until the last piece
and we would smoke
and mess the sheets and the floor
with shoots of his white mournfoul love
you know what I mean
we were tigers
and we didn't watch TV
we had sweet music
and mouths that talked
like nobody elses
but that is not the real expression of love
if loved had a voice
it would be a snore...
I guess I could explain this...
...
but you know what I mean