The crave

I crave ice cream melted by your body, 

Pouring slowly down on your cunt

It would be like nectar, drank from the cup of life

Showing me the ways of gods.

Mountains would shake, seas would flood

The world would never be the same

Reshaped, refreshed, reborn

Just like the first day of spring 

After winter's blue

Mirage

Going in for the kill

Ain't that a thill...

My eyes focused, yet

Empty, cold blooded

Feelings, i tend to hurt those

Especially if they're in others

Never had any of my own

Guess they were thrown

The mind's been my only soul

Wet, dark, it's more of a stone

Painting them, emotions scarce

Present, future, just a mirage

Love, show me how to draw it

Look, everything seems to fit

Lines, angles or even the dots

But you won't see soft spots

Wine

Too big for this world

Too small from the up above

Never in my place

Always in between,

Always out of love.

The sun is up and shining

Soul's forever dying

Always in the myst

Oh, no, I can't resist!

Put someone in my place

The sight is haunting

Let me be,

I can't feel nothing.

That love you seek,

Well, it makes me sick

So let me drink my wine

Then, forever intertwine...

We'll blame it on the wine

We'll blame it on the wine,

No, not on wrong time

I hope to write you one day,

Another one that got away.

I'd also learn to say no

Than to fuck up a bro... Still

If there's a reason that I'll learn to dance

It'll be you and me, never in that stance

Never will I name it, 

In my heart then keep it

Unless you're on you're way

Knowing that you're here to stay.

I'd love for you to spend the night

And let the sun make everything alright.

Or else, you're in the shower

Coming out wrapped in a warm towel.

Then that would be the end 

And I'll try to keep my friend

Go back to the world of madness

Don't worry, that I can harness

Both of us were at a low

And I will take the biggest blow

The wind, the cold, the snow...

You froze, but he'll never know

What is an artist?

What is an artist? Isn't he a person that writes down all the human emotions without neglecting one of them? Which one, you might ask. That is simple to answer: the one emotion an artist doesn't really experience, the one that he detaches from his art is only laughter. A writer, a painter can never really capture that drunken, blinding euphoria that laughter brings, he can never really feel or capture, not when he's creating, the others because laughter and that kind of pleasure shadows the rest, for it is normally more powerful than what he feels when he expresses the rest. One could say that laughter and joy can only extinguish the fire that other emotions like despair, lust or sadness feed. Laughing is born from mockery. How can one truly express other feelings with the depth that they require and mockery only delutes?

There are those who can make art out of mockery. They are called comedians. One might think that they limit themselves just to only one emotion or purpose. They would be wrong for the comedian has the power to make fun of anything. That is his true nature, to use everything else in a way that takes him to his greatness.

The only difference between an comendian and the rest of the creators of art is that his safe heaven is the same as the one that all mortals cherish. His way of making art, the object of his creation is widely accepted while the rest of his kind are considered outcasts for they find their refuge in the favellas of life and feelings.

Love of my life

There's a loneliness with me 

That will never go away

She takes me on the path to silence 

When my mind has something to say.

She's a jealous bitch 

Thinks she's the only one

That can keep my life rich.

I've known her for a while

Acts like she was always mine.

Every step I take, she doubles it in time

Warmest at night when, she holds you tight

There's no embrace to show me the light

She's always with me. Loyal, I must say,

But I wish she didn't lead the way

Madness

Those lips that I had once kissed

Still red, still wild and I had missed

Just a second, eyes are closed,

We're in a dark room

Nothing's covered, not even your bum

The cold night

I am death and sickness for the soul,

A battlefield where love has failed to conquer

Many times had the weary candle burnt

Until the cold winter wind blew it out of sight

What else remains if not only night?

The night,

The night,

The night...

It's doubled by the cold 

And the only guide is

the path that's left behind

Chriss

In my drunkenness, I would have carried you to sleep

But you have your Cherry

And she held you warm as as no man could keep

I am just a passenger

That had the chance give

For I am just s shadow in the life you seek

Seeing you on that couch made me thinking

Of two souls, one giving the other one receiving

For eternity that moment I'll be re...living

Dream on and keep believing

No more feelings

You fucking asked me about my ex and why we broke up.. First off, there were no more feelings. At least not the kind that you have when you share a bed with someone. It was a second chance what we had and it stopped at that. Nothing grew.

Secondly, I saw my parents life in the combination me-her. Think what you want but I'm not gonna go down that road. I have a duty to the universe not to repeat past mistakes like this one.

You also have asked why she's not around and why she's not invited to stuff. To that my answer is simple: if anyone wants to get together with her, I would encourage it. She's a great girl, but I don't want any new memories with her. Our time has long passed and both of us are on different paths. I don't like her short hair.

The day I made you sad

I had no idea the bitch was so insane... I am terribly sorry to have put you in this position. I have failed yet again... That grave I should have been kept unmarked, unopened... Now it haunts me and I have dragged you into this horror film. Hope it has a happy ending... 

  No, I have flipped it from something wierdly pleasant into horror. The sky turned dark as petrol and the wind brought in the cold. He, the wind, had planned to blow hard on me and send me on my way back to the hell hole I crawled out of...

 Nature had a plan to punish me so that you won't have to get your hands dirty. Yesterday changed from the perfect day into the perfect storm that's sent the sun into oblivion and made the day cold as stars never existed. 

I should have learned by now how to bury them deeper and how to plant flowers over them. On these graves, I mean. I am not proud of myself, yet I have to live knowing I will sometimes pass those ugly graves and sometimes I will not be walking alone. Let's hold hands tightly and step up the pace without looking back.

All that hurts is seeing you in your mustard coat and the hat with the innocent ears, holding your distance and hiding your disgust. That's where my pain comes from. From making a bad day turn into a nightmare.

I knew it would be me

When I think of you my chest is beating as if I'm carrying all the earthly and unearthly treasures a man can offer to a woman. I'd gather them all and leave them at your doorstep but never knock.

 I'll never make the first step or speak the first word. You know that. I'm weak like that and just the thought of not knowing what you'd say sends me running to the other corner of the world. Yet I'd take you with me wherever I would go. I'd keep you in my heart until the very end of time itself. 

I've been here before, you know... Only once in my life.  So here we are, face to face and I'm still the same kid I was then, when you had just a different name. 

How could I be so blind and not recognize you from the start?! How come I didn't notice those perfect imperfections?! 

There's no point to all of this... Absolutely none. For all of this is restlessness is in vain without your touch. Once more, I am alone in this...

Cowardice

Looking back at my childhood, there were three types of women in my life. There were the ones I fucked. Those are the low lifes, the cheaters, the manipulators. Those are most exciting fucks ever. They're basic and just know how to enjoy a good fucking. The way they moan, the way they ask for it and the way they take a fucking like it's itching even harder the loger they fuck can make any man cum without hesitation. 

The second type, were the women that befriended me. There have been a few and some are still in my life. They're the good women. The ones that are so balanced that they've become unattractive, more like sisters. To these I can talk and open up to because you know they can listen and give sane advice. These women are the ones that good men seek and marry and have children with. I'll never want that.

The third one is my mother. The insecure type, always afraid something bad is going to happen. She's the controlling type, always suspicious and wanting to know everything and then judging every word, making you feel like everything you do is a mistake. I run like hell from women like that.

There's never been just one, a model to define my tastes. It's always been many women with different roles. Some for fucking, some for talking and some that I run away from. Never knew how to ask one to fulfill each of the roles and it always felt better to keep them separated. 

Infatuation

Whenever I see red lips, I think of you.

Childhood memories

I remember the first girl that I think I really liked when I was a little boy. Har name was, I hope it still is, Andreea and she was the youngest of three sisters and two brothers. Her father was a drunk which we used to see only when he came home drunk and her mother always screamed at her from the balcony on the fourth floor. I remember playing mommy and daddy with her, under the big metal gas box which was a few houses down from where I lived and almost across the appartment building in which she lived. I think she was the first one to have spent time with me.

I remember that one day we went behind the dumpaster on an alley and tried to make hanky panky. She lied down on some old piece of cloth that somebody didn't need anymore, lifted her skirt and rolled down her pantieswhile I, of course, was a horny little bot that didn't know how it was supposed to happen and tried to get on top of her. We gave it a shot or two but of course we didn't make love properly. She had probably seen one of her older sisters doing it and she wanted to be like them. I remember she said 'Ouch!' a couple of times. She was just a little skinny girl playing house whith the  boy down the street that liked her and spent time with her. I remember being terrified that someone would catch us and after five or ten minutes we went out behind the dumpster checking for nosy neighbours that couldn't mind their own business. I think I felt ashamed or at least disappointed of what had happened. Scared I was for sure for the whole eternity that only lasted a few minutes. Not sure, but I think my parents had a problem with me playing with her and think I wasn't allowed to play with her. She came from one of the poorest families on the street. Just imagine... Seven people living in a three-bedroom appartment on the top floor of an appartment building, whith a painter that enjoyed coming home late as a father and two sisters that had their own lives and didn't took much care of her except the occasional big sister beatings. I can't believe I'm remembering this so well right now. This must have happened at least twenty years ago and still I can remember her face pretty well. She was short haired and naive as any girl would be at that age. Yet she was my first, the one that set me on the path of love in the most unusual place one would think of. But we did the best with what we had. And that I'll always remember. 

Her brothers weren't the nicest. They would always get into fights and knew all the bad kids in the neighbourhood. We used to play ball in the street all day long. Danny and Chris were two completely different blokes. One was always trying to be funny, the other wanted to be a playboy, always fancy. As fancy as they could be as nor their education nor clothes did't say high class. Not even upper poor. but they had respect. One time, Chris had to fight this guy from a different street. It had been arranged for them to meet on the field next to the train station. And because i was friends with him and his brother, normally, I was there. Danny and I couldn't intervene although his brother was taking a beating from the other guy. It was their affair and they shook hands like gentlemen after it was over and the victor had been settled. There were only feelings of loss on our side and no celebration after the match was over. We went back to our street and carried on with our games like nothing happened. I just Hope they're not in jail... They were my friends and we shared a lot of momories and quite a few cigarettes back then. That's how we rolled.

Social life

I have met a lot of people and have many groups of friends but I believe I handle the interactions with them badly. I tend to get absorbed with one group and neglect the rest. Which isn't that bad though, because I need time to get to know them better. The issue at hand is that I don't know how to balance everyone out and navigate through the groups. I guess that comes from my all or nothing attitude, like wanting the group I spend my time with to be my all, and always be as I please. 

Guess I'm also jumping to conclusions and start being analytical or judgy with people. Then, when all the pressure builds up, I invent some crazy idea so that I can blame them and run away as it cannot be my fault.

The unbearable

I like the addicts, the abused, the broken, the bastards and the wicked! It's those people that I find most interesting as their views of the world are extraordinary, they have been where no common man had the courage to set foot. I value them and their stories far more than others because theirs are full of hurt and struggle. The sane man has nothing to offer but simple and plain things, the ordinary.