post\stone v2.1a

fimmtudagur, ágúst 22, 2013 o lado de lá

é tudo de dentro
vem tudo de dentro
o mundo de fora
não é nada como o de dentro

aqui tem sempre várias portas
e nunca me lembro em qual eu

eu fecho os olhos
pra te alcançar por dentro
aqui fora
só tem barro
ou será que
é aqui dentro

tem sempre os dois lados
o errado e o certo
não consigo ver nenhum
nem se eu tivesse inventado
tudo isso
nem de olhos abertos
nem se eu olhasse de

me rasgo com um alfinete de realidade
merda, vazou tudo
vinte e cinco pontos
limpa essa sujeira
larga de babaquice
toma jeito
onde é que já se

porra, deve ter algum jeito
olha essa antagonia
quanta angústia
falta harmonia
só antagonia é

rafael at 3:50 f.h.
föstudagur, ágúst 16, 2013 b4

                       there's nobody here
(i wish i could at the very very least cry)
                      there's nobody here
(there's too much happening out there i don't care i just don't care just carry me somewhere and blow my nerves off and stick them to a tree)
                   there's nobody here
(i wish i was a tree but then someone would draw a dick on me and write "fuck you")
                         there's nobody here
(me myself i'm planting the seeds to my own sadness and there's not even one son of a bitch watering it it's all my fault)
                       there's nobody here
(silence takes over my mind but i know something's about to explode)
                                there's nobody here
(self control is fading away like smoke on a starless night - i'm happy i can still see it)
                               there's nobody here
these hands are c r u m b l i n g and so am i
                                 there's nobody here
(who am i talking to anyway)
                               there's nobody here
(...but who's judging)

rafael at 12:29 f.h.
miðvikudagur, ágúst 14, 2013 a coat

i'd like to buy a coat
with big pockets
one with a neutral color so it goes well with all my other clothes
one that will tolerate me even though i still smoke sometimes
one that will keep me warm and sane in the endless winters of my life
one that will make me feel like if my mother was hugging me
one that will allow me to softly recollect the perfume of the people i lost
(only if i really want to do it because it usually just makes me sad)
one that will age with me and i'll still use it and no one will get mad about it
one with a hood so i can pretend i'm someone else while wearing it if i want to
one i can just close and sleep inside in case i don't feel like going back home
or want to die

rafael at 12:45 f.h.
mánudagur, ágúst 12, 2013 yuki

you, queen
burning queen of the dead sky
i'm giving you all this don't ask me why
so you set me on fire make the world bright
and paint me with delicate colors and let me die
"no use covering him with dirt" "yeah the pain comes from inside"
i'd like to run away i will but i can't hide
so i'm giving all you this don't ask me why

rafael at 11:45 e.h.
föstudagur, ágúst 02, 2013 don't look at the same word for too long

i talk to myself as a kid
full of dreams and lollipops but careless
and bleed

why did you do that that other day
the kid asks,
pointing to something i might know
the blood still flows, i say
why pay attention to little details
it's like i already did my homework,
and don't want to go out and play

where's my dog?
where are my friends?
what did you do to them?
hang on i can explain
it was all for the better
it's always for the better...


i talk to myself as an old man
visiting it's own grave
in a grey graveyard
why didn't you take the long path
why didn't you stop smoking
why didn't you accept someone
you're going to die soon
and what did you do here
he points to the grave
it says something about life
it's always about life
but what's life about, anyway

have your name written somewhere
that's important for someone
that's what you should have done
but, what the fuck, look at this,
where have you gone to,
young man


they all sit together in the same room
on delicate chairs
made of regret and hopelessness
and gummy bears and loneliness
and musical instruments
i sit on the ground
my heads are facing down
and they all point to me
they are angry
they point to me
they ask me all the time:
are you still true?

rafael at 9:29 f.h.

das memórias.