Don't wake us up when tomorrow arrives, we'd rather be dreamers

martes, 28 de marzo de 2017

Prompt: peach

You picked me up
from the floor,
You sweet-talked me,
said I wasn’t

You peeled me off,
with care
I let you touch my
tender spots, willingly
let you dig your fingers
deep into my flesh

You lifted me
to your mouth,
behind your kiss
there were teeth,
and my sweetness trickled
down your throat and
I remember I hoped
it was satisfactory

But as soon as you
reached the hardness of
my core,
you spit me out
abandoned me
forgot me
left me to rot

(But it is my fault
I should have known
I should have known
I should have known)


domingo, 5 de marzo de 2017

Prompt: horn

horned beast,
don’t hide
your shame,
come on out
your raw hurt

don’t conceal
the sharpness
of your teeth
behind your lips,
let them see

winged beast,
outstrecth your limbs
-feathers glistening
under the sun-
take space

don’t hold back
the growl
in your throat
let it out,
make them afraid

gentle beast!
you will have
to fight your way
out of this one
and so in others

your kindness
was not rewarded
with respect,
so give them
what they deserve


miércoles, 1 de marzo de 2017

Prompts: flower, fruit, vase, roots, breeze, ice

the softness of petals
calloused skin

you eat the seeds,
carry them
to far off lands

encased in warmth,
breath in
and let it go

moist soil kisses,
your naked feet

your guilt seeps out,
a caress
and a farewell

time passes and
changes matter


let it flow out of proportion (spit)


like an ever expanding cavity in my chest

the anger is a mere decoy

unfortunate hunger

for bones narrowed at the tips

the truth is

the breath between a blank face

and the first weep

i am undoing

my love bleeds through my skin

(now i know it was the love for humanity that came out of jesus pores under the moonlight and not fear

i am no mesiah

-yet i would die for love)

picking up the pieces

the crumbles

of this facade

of knowledge

i am left with raw flesh

and exposed nerves

i am nowhere near absolution

unless it comes from the hands of my beloveds

but the world is fractured

and i am left on a verge

to another fragment

in which another one exists

and reaching out always means

running the risk of cutting

-and yet i would saw my veins willingly for that

there is a pain

behind my blurred eyes

and my panting lungs

and the sadness that i cannot understand

and maybe it is because all the emotion barricaded is lashing out at my corporeal manifestation

my throat is cleanched

and i am dying

a joyous death, perhaps


if love can do that


softness of fingertips
murmur of lips
drowsy eyelids
pressing hands
stroked scalp
you and me
and you



suavidad de yemas de dedos
murmullo de labios
párpados soñolientos
manos que presionan
cuero cabelludo acariciado
vos y yo
y vos


hollow leaves
drained of their
previous life,
falling on the streets

unrooted hair
finally letting go
of your head,
falling on my sheets



hojas huecas
drenadas de su
vida previa,
cayendo en las calles

pelos desraizados
finalmente dejando ir
tu cabeza,
cayendo en mis sábanas


How to fuck up your child (in a fancy fashion)

Hello there, gentleman!
Would you be so kind as to give me
a little of your precious time?
You won't regret it, I promise

I'm here to tell you how to fuck up your child
I'm not talking about beating,
I'm not talking about raping,
Those are far too pedestrian approaches,
I'm talking about a more... subtle way
After all, how else would it be funny?
You very well know that parenting is just another amusing game,
another chance you cannot walk past,
so, at least, make the best out of it,
have fun!
And, of course, something as obvious as physical abuse
is too cliché to be even remotely amusing

Do not panic!
I can provide you with a simple guideline
which, I guarantee you, will make your experience memorable

First of all, you got to find a girl
I mean, someone has to give birth to your child
before you can fuck things up, right?
Make sure this girl reminds you of your mother,
now, come on, don't get all Freudian on me,
what I'm trying to imply is that this girl
must know how to take care of you;
she should be amused by your clever occurrences,
should wash your clothes, iron them,
and let's not forget about cleaning your place,
she should lay a warm meal in front of you
after a long ago finished six hours working day
of that job your father got you
when things between you and her started to get more serious,
It's no excuse she has been working almost half the day
and got back from a better paid job just a few minutes ago
(It is a shame, though, she doesn't wash your hair like your mum did
before you moved in with her, but she's still worth keeping)

Demand her whole attention
Do not leave her any scarce free time,
when she is not working, she ought to be taking care of you,
that's what wives are supposed to do, mate!
She doesn't need friends, she has you,
she has you to go to places to,
only when you like, that goes without saying,
she can rely on you to tell jokes
no one will laugh at,
and teach her cordiality is the best
she can strive for

Do not listen to her complaints,
she makes no sense

When your child finally arrives,
shout and scream
and make a terrible fuss
because you are now second
in her priorities
What kind of stunt is that?

When the bags under her eyes
are dark as a moonless night,
Always demand that
which is rightfully yours
When she cries,
make fun of how stupid she looks,
how funny her voice sounds
when it cracks,
how awful those tears
streaming down her cheeks are
And if she snaps,
you may want to smack her around a little
Just to get her back to her senses,
you know

When her obstinacy persists,
now a second child on the picture,
keep demanding
Punch walls,
leave a hole in the study's door,
yell at night,
scream to her when she says
the children are sleeping
Because they must hear,
they must hear your fights
while they lay awake in bed,
blanket covering half their faces,
with wide hopeless eyes
that only dream of better worlds

When she tries to talk about
splitting up, turn your face,
shout, curse,
punch things,
insult her,
make sure she gets back to her place
Put a gun in your mouth
and threaten to kill yourself

As they grow up,
en-role them in sports
Nothing healthier than that
Whichever you prefer, of course
The little shits just keep
dropping off of all of them,
so make them stick to one,
and assure them their tears
won't convince you otherwise

Tell them that you're proud
of their performance in the sport
they don't like and didn't even choose
Show them off to your acquaintances,
remark how good they are at that,
just talk while they are silent,
vacant minds constructing
crystal castles in space

When they finally
refuse to keep going with it altogether,
show them how disappointed you are
Remind them that at every chance you have
Tell them casually how people's bodies get
all saggy and unattractive because they don't do sports
Talk about those hot chicks you see in the gym
with fine backs
and toned legs

Don't ever bother asking
what they really want,
what they like,
just figure it out yourself
based on your bast amount of..
well, of nothing,
but you're their father,
so you know what is best for them

When you are made redundant,
blame your boss,
your co-workers,
the government
and politics
Don't look for another job,
you must dedicate your dear time
to complain

When your wife gets you a job
after years of unemployment,
get full of yourself
When you return home and they are gone,
rant in rage about how people
are fucking traitors

When you receive your wife's call,
cry to her, ask her why?
When your children get to the phone
and innocently ask you "how are you?"
Answer bitterly "how do you think I am?"
And go on and on about betrayal, dishonour...

When they start visiting you at the place
in which you live alone now,
bring up, out of the blue,
the way everyone, and stress this word
properly, everyone let you down,
how they stabbed you in the back,
how they, and get graphic,
stick a finger up your ass
That you gave them everything
and this is how they pay you

Tell your children you are aware,
oh, well aware, of their master plan
to get you and your wife apart
As for her, keep asking for more chances,
don't accept the outcome which was
settled years ago,
keep sending her flowers for Valentine's day;
(well, make your children buy her flowers)

Tell your children that they will starve
if they decide to choose teaching English as a career,
that it is a worthless title, anyway
University is the thing, chaps!
Display the array of careers you would have liked
to study yourself
And help them choose

After some time, give a letter
to your children,
and instruct them to make sure
that they read it, their mother as well
Write clear hints of suicide,
but keep it classy
I can lend you a sentence, if you like,
no charge at all,
you can use it if you run out of ideas:
"But don't believe..." [laughs] "don't" believe..." [laughs]
"...But don't believe anything the others tell you,
because -insert here your name- died from love"

And then you can stand from a distance
and see how your children
are full of insecurities,
of shame,
of blame,
of misery,
of hopelessness
You can see how they fight
to keep their pieces together;
you can see how fucked up they are

And you never laid a single finger on them
What do you tell me about that?
Elegant, isn't it?
Now you have
first-hand experience
of how amusing
this game can be,
the game which proves that maturity
is just a process made for fruits.



A smile arches
my lips,
with my eyes still clouded
and the dampness on my cheeks
still a mouthfull of sea

Your eyes,
so gentle and warm,
sprout my spirit
with the calmest of lights

I wonder if you
can see the colours
brought upon
by the comforting embrace
of your Sun
and my Rain

I wonder, too,
if I could ever describe those
that are out of sight
for both me and you