"Your socks in the sink, your food in the fridge..."
"What's wrong with my food?"
"It's not food anymore, Dean, it's Darwinism!"
Darwinism. That's it, that's right. Food that's evolved into a new, not so appealing but much more lively...mess. With growing hair and green and white as the main colours, crowding the spaces in that long-forgotten fridge, aided by unpaid light bills.
Green and white and soft and about to explode with gas. And the brown pool splashing to the grown; sticky, brown pool of undetermined jelly. I'm arms-deep in bleach and life blurting out from each and every corner, taking over where only death was before. Evolution. Darwinism. My very own tribute to Sammy-psychopsychic and Dean-tootoughformyself.
(And to the yellow eyed bastard...just die, will you? Die, then burn yourself.)
domingo, 28 de marzo de 2010
sábado, 27 de marzo de 2010
Tell me why
When the whole world turns against me. When it's not alone, but lonely. When this room I'm in starts moving its walls towards me, closing in on me, threatening to choke me and spill my guts over the window. When there is no love without disappointment, no truth in your deceitful words.
No sympathy, no reality that I can face, just the world, bare and raw, biting cold and dangerous. Smothered by the monsters beyond, hidden in a wardrobe I don't need, I don't want, I can't share.
When all I feel is the wet embrace of realization, when the black stains on my sketchpad are not ink anymore, when a kiss is too cold, when a hug is so longed it's no longer there, when at the end of the day the phone is silent and it hasn't rained, but it's all drenched, you may ask yourself,
Where did I go wrong?
No sympathy, no reality that I can face, just the world, bare and raw, biting cold and dangerous. Smothered by the monsters beyond, hidden in a wardrobe I don't need, I don't want, I can't share.
When all I feel is the wet embrace of realization, when the black stains on my sketchpad are not ink anymore, when a kiss is too cold, when a hug is so longed it's no longer there, when at the end of the day the phone is silent and it hasn't rained, but it's all drenched, you may ask yourself,
Where did I go wrong?
jueves, 4 de marzo de 2010
Kahlua
De color caramelo y dulce sabor, en cristal ajeno, sofa ajeno, todo ajeno, ¿algo me queda? Notas altas, bajas, viejas canciones que nunca escuché pero siempre supe, y nuevos conocidos más allá del blanco límite de mi habitacion.
De color caramelo y olor a café; crema y hielo. Consuelo de una noche, fin de un dia gris como el cielo que todo lo cubre, que todo lo ve. Ante el megáfono no hay voz que no suene, no hay estrella sin nombre.
De color caramelo, caramelo ha de ser. Un último trago y las risas resuenan en el cuarto vacio solo a trozos, amor y deseo, hambre, pasion, y tras la puerta cerrada, solo ecos. Y en un solo momento, tu voz, suave y desgarradora. Te desnudo en un segundo, y derramo Kahlua por tu cuerpo.
Qué dulce es tu piel.
De color caramelo y olor a café; crema y hielo. Consuelo de una noche, fin de un dia gris como el cielo que todo lo cubre, que todo lo ve. Ante el megáfono no hay voz que no suene, no hay estrella sin nombre.
De color caramelo, caramelo ha de ser. Un último trago y las risas resuenan en el cuarto vacio solo a trozos, amor y deseo, hambre, pasion, y tras la puerta cerrada, solo ecos. Y en un solo momento, tu voz, suave y desgarradora. Te desnudo en un segundo, y derramo Kahlua por tu cuerpo.
Qué dulce es tu piel.
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