terça-feira, 10 de janeiro de 2012


The Religion



Little did I know

When I looked across

The church,

With my mouth full

Of lies,

My skin contaminated

With holy-water´s bacteria,

That the love of one

For another

Is just the sin everybody

Was talking about

Even in silence,

Pretending to remember

Their sins,

Smiling with pleasure

When they came up

To their minds.


So far was I

Of imagining

My holy milk

On one´s mouth,

Holy as warm

And truth,

Feeling like heaven,

Or at least

No fear, just life

As it was worth it,

Not love at all,

Just a great blow job

On my mother´s car.



B.


“To The Whore Who Took My Poems”



Do you remember

When you stole my unwritten

Poems? Do you

Remember,

Or your head

Is just to show

A new hair-color, a new

Expensive haircut,

Ridiculous jewelry,

To have childish desires

Paid with obscene

Indirect prostitution

(Yes, you are a whore,

A dumb one)?



Do you remember

That night,

Thumbs up

In your ass,

Growing fat,

My words throgh my cock

Up into your uterus?

All other possible poems,

Took by your

Moaning fake love

On my wine ears,

A seeded illusion,

Grown to confusion, that had

To be removed

With all acid poems,

Instead of others,

All the poems you took,

When you made me come,

Even after so much wine,

Inside your body

While your soul

Was on devil´s bank

Account.



B.