hoje apetecia-me tomar o meu anti-inflamatório com uns goles de lixívia. parece que ja ouvi todas as conversas.

one eye only
it's enough
you're enough.

and you leave me here
sad and lonely
sad and lovely
sad and used

there's nothing worse than being useless
do you want me to...?

i said
do you want me too?

oh, fiction of reality
features your good side,
my bad bedside
manners which I don't have.
your beat features are
my worst nightmares.

i couldn't.
you know i couldn't.

i just couldn't write our love story
right from the start.
i was right
in not knowing
what to say
to your eyes
see, i just want to die
see, i don't know
are they green or are they blue?

i am not worthy of knowing
what you're thinking of.
i can only rely on my best
known practised speech.
"oh, never mind"
if i'd mind even less,
i'd be transparent.

the only thing that worries me
is how my genome interacts with you.

i wish i could know
what does your amygdala sound like at dawn?

oh, we're a match made in a psychiatrist's recycle bin.

it's just a waste you can't see past your self.

preciso de ouvir vozes
muitas vozes
outras vozes
quaisquer vozes servem
para abafar as minhas.

as vezes gostava de ter essas vidas que ouco subir e descer as escadas. dia e noite. gostava de ter a vida de quem come take away e nao se preocupa com o dinheiro. ponho-me nos pés de toda a gente com quem lido. e imagino como seria, ter aquelas vidas ocupadas. de entrar e sair, de comer fora ou ir ao supermercado mesmo antes da hora de jantar. e ter sempre nocao das horas. porque viver contigo é perder completamente a nocao do tempo.

ontem escrevi um poema na minha cabeca. e correu super bem.

nao sei se é porque tive sorte, que agora me sinto tao sozinha.

mas que sorte? aqui tudo ganha pó muito facilmente. aqui está sempre tudo sujo, escuro, frio, chato, feio. aqui é tudo muito difícil e nada - nada - no teu corpo, ajuda. nada.

quanto menos falo com pessoas, menos quero falar. fico ansiosa. nao quero nunca mais ter de falar com ninguem para alem de ti. e de ti.

aqui isolada estou bem, nao sei.

detesto toda a gente

nao tenho ninguem com quem falar. mas tambem detesto falar.

MY head hurts
like I could feel the days going by, pulling away from my skin
leaving little marks of sadness and despair and loneliness
all the feelings I thought I didn't have in stock.

I cannot hear happy things or happy people walk about and shout it out
It's like I chose to stay inside for months. Each month I lose one limb
There must be a reason for all this. I cannot simply wait and end up loose-ing, my-self

I strive for emptiness. It cannot be.
Sometimes I want things, more things, get more things, get to be full of things, bursting of things and loads of things all the things, and more and more and so stuffed and full that I cannot breathe because I can't breathe with all these things I can't take. I feel like I'm trapped in my own trap for empty and for full of wonderful things. But wait... What's that sound?

"Hi, our lives don't have a meaning, so we buy it instead. Buy a life, buy some meaning; advertise yourself for love, friends or networking. The Life shop buys your days by the kilo. Come, come, there's also a reduced section for those desperate ones. Cancer cases and depressive types prefer to go minimal. Still, no one's stopping you from buying Christmas gifts in February. Why stop there? Just pre-order yourself a coffin!"

I'm certain that I am the saddest person in this town!
Why don't I get some take away like no one cares.
Why don't I end up buying two sets of dinnerware instead of one.

I don't miss you at all.

I just feel like you're getting away, quietly.
Like we're in the middle of a sentence, but suddenly I realized I was talking to myself.

Like when you get bored of my subjects and you choose your own.

You're like that chicken flavour we don't do anymore.

We've got to make new ones, for the better.
We've got to make new friends, friendlier.

I may not know what I'm saying...
but of one thing I'm certain:

I don't, I don't really miss you at all.

Como se de um ex-amor se tratasse,
vejo o teu nome em todo o lado.

Vejo a tua cara em todos os sonhos
mesmo que não sejam sobre ti

Não sei porque me chateias tanto
mesmo quando não quero saber de ti.

Porque é que aprendi o teu nome,
os teus hábitos e os teus dias favoritos?

Agora aborreces-me de morte
persegues-me com o teu amor fantasma.

Ele atravessa paredes e montes de tralhas esquecidas
atravessa rios e passeios à beira-mar
através dele e através dela
vejo a tua genética por aí,
espalhada.

O teu país é o pior sítio onde eu me podia ter perdido.
Com a verdade, me engano.

Ditch me
Ditch me not
My deepest pit
My deepest cave
My ditch
My self

Oh yeah, he entered me.
Entered me deep,
so deep
I almost forgot.

I remember how you didn't care about my skin
you didn't
you couldn't wash your hands
and you rubbed and rubbed
and infected my skin
with your disease.
You robbed and infected me
with your fucking disease.

Actually, my vibrator reminds me of you.

today i fell in love with my shower head.

it came on so strong
i would have never believed it
if someone told me
just how lucky i would be
with a handful of glory.

i turned it on so gently
it turned me on so quickly.

i held it hard between my thighs,
i held it dearly.

i whispered nice things
hoping no one else would listen.

it picked up and rode on.
it never got tired.
humanity in a box
it isn't as pretty as i pictured
but in times like these,
i knew you wouldn't pick up the phone
anyways.

and then i thought i saw you
me and my wishful thinking
we thought we saw you right there
sometimes my wishful thinking
actually works
for just some time
i actually thought i saw you

you were talking to me
like it was the most natural thing
no awkward silence
no having to bite my lip
to know i'm dreaming.

my wishful thinking keeps me up at night
when you don't come home.

i'm not too sure if i should be saying this so bluntly but
you're the worst thing that could happen to my sleeping pattern.
my schedules, my logistics and my obsessive life-planning.
but somehow you just made it to my agenda.

faço dos meus votos
os teus votos
porque somos todos
tão democráticos
simpáticos
aristocráticos
e antipáticos.

I wanna eat your blue eyes.
I just wanna eat them for breakfast
the morning after.
I just wanna stare into your lack of soul
for the happy-after.

I just want this longing, lasting, libidinous lost lust to die at once.

Fuck me with your eyes open
because I like swapping between lovers while I come.
I get bored easily.
Fuck me with your eyes open
so i can pretend to look into the depths of you.

You're making love
I'm making memories.
Because sometimes,
the internet is down
and I wanna have a backup.

I'm home.
I don't need to be pretty anymore.
I don't need to look happy anymore.

Have you ever been so lonely
you ask a stranger for the time
just to talk to someone?

Once, I killed a bonsai.

Don't tell me when its wrong.
I like it when you tell me something pretty, instead.

Don't tell me truths of this dimension
I'll suck the future out of you.

This dimension is becoming less and less interesting.

Life fucked me in the ass
and didn't even stay the night
I said, she fucked me in the ass.
'twas an accident, she whispered in my tired ear.

She puts her weight on my back.
She doesn't apologise,
I don't pretend.
I don't have to fake it anymore.
It's just us here, she says.

On the corner of my eye
she laughs histerically.

It's not that I'm scarse with words
I just really want you to listen to this song.

You taste like tomorrow
I smell yesterday in here.

I smell all of your future meaningful decisions.

You're gonna think they're oh, so difficult
but all we need is space.

My sex is messy and takes up your whole life.

I'm ahead of you
I'm ahead having fun with your future bad decisions
I'm your luck this year
you're in my lucky year.

I'm in an open world
and you're my next mission.

My missionary sarcasm isn't a coincidence.

With me, you'll learn that nothing really is a coincidence.

I feel like a bad omen,
a widow in India.
Someone crying in an airplane.
A bus driver that just got robbed.
A surgeon who was just abused.

I'm not addicted to anything anymore.

This is boring.

Why am I so upset?

You're obsession, my compulsion.

he was just the right amount of damaged.

so, what's the problem with going wrong?
the awkward moment
only happens in my head.

for him
i'd touch all bases in one day.

[esta cama é demasiado confortável para mim. mas não para ti. dormes enquanto que eu duvido.]

he's like, "i've got just the right amount of low self-esteem"
he's like "i don't trust myself not to damage you. and then we're the same."

instead of talking, he speaks in smiles and looks elsewhere.
I wanna be there when you become the villain.

hey. i wrote a poem about you.
but you're never gonna read it.

some time after;
i don't have to practice anymore.
i don't have to be alert and aware.
everything feels natural
you feel natural to me.

my bullshit detector app has got an internal failure. it beeps when I sigh.

i don't need to check your bodylanguage anymore,
to know i got you.

he had a messy bedroom
and a messy head
he said "don't you go near my insides"

i said "wouldn't i like to try it"
i said "but everything feels so natural
and real"


you don't have to practice your speeches anymore.
don't you be nervous, dear.
i fall in love faster, lately.

i wanna learn you
so you don't have to blush
anymore.

os meus pontos negros
são os meus pontos fracos

eles pesam, e pesam mais do que eu posso trazer
eles pesam-me a bagagem
e depois vão ver.

que os meus pontos negros
são os mesmos que os meus pontos fortes.

aqueles que eu aviso
e revisto à passagem
para outra margem
de outro lado
de um espelho
que não me mostra
pontos nenhuns.

são os pontos
que num mapa
não me mostra
onde deixei
coisas minhas
coisas tuas
coisas fortes
coisas e mortes.

os meus pontos negros
vão pesar tanto
esta viagem
que vão acabar
por estragar tudo.

a minha bagagem
a tua bagagem.
eu sei.

todos temos pontos
que juntamos a contos
sem nos pormos
no spotlight

os meus pontos negros
os mais-que-perfeitos.

he was on top.
i was looking at his abs, so very defined.

he was looking at me closely.
i was almost orgasming,
thinking about the babies we weren't going to have

when suddenly he asks,
"do you hate me?"

and i laughed and i laughed.

I fuck because I need it.
not because I wanna.

ontem apaixonei-me por ti outra vez.
não foi exactamente como no início
mas foi como nos filmes.

estavas tão perdida,
de mala às costas
o que me chamou à atenção,
foi, obviamente, as tuas botas Doc Martens.

deu para perceber que eras esquizoafectiva.
ignoraste todos os meus olhares
nem sabes que te vi nua.
imaginei o teu corpo
em cima do meu
uma vida juntos
sem saber.
(e percebi que tens problemas de expressão)

as estações de comboios
são talvez
os sítios mais românticos do mundo.
a única vantagem de ficar preso por causa da neve
é ver a enchente de emoções.
dos que partem,
e dos que ficam.

tu estavas tão concentrada em não pensar em nada
acabaste por te rir da senhora dos pombos
fiquei tão feliz de te ver.
aí tive a certeza de que eras tu.

tinhas a mesma máscara
fizeste-me lembrar do que eu gosto.

agora estes tempos sem notícias
é que são muito difíceis.

i love to secretly hate you
and I would take away all of the boys' virginities if only I could

i'd love to scratch your back and pretend that you're mine.

i'd love to say i'm something inevitable that happened to your wife.

i could eat you up to pretend you never existed.

i could actually love you two by tonight.

but my problem is i love to take away all your secrets, take everything away because i can never give it back. 

i destroy and i destroy. you.