I swear

good sense in these days is a kind of art
she said and came back to bed
not that bad
I suposed

when I rubbed my nails against the wall
was like my love for her
and could not be worse
at time
then she moved her head positively
I swear

Dali had no good sense when played
with clocks and sea waves
neither the lumberjacks had
when they built this poor bed

kind of art?
what the hell...

the selfish man in me

I'm hunting me
around
I'm putting me
on the ground
I'm losing me
beyond

I'm surrounded by myself.

today I’m not okay

I don’t believe in my dreams
any longer
they tell me exactly
the things
I’d like to hear
and some more

pretty hard
to solve this
and face as a karma

I'm on my own again

it’s just friday night
where are them all?
dancing? dating?
having fun?
great
I’m locked inside my room
standing
as every friday nights
in the last four months

I hope they’re not
drinking
writing
or doing anything
like that

cause today I’m not okay