[x]

Lovelove

Someone asked me what is love
is it good, is it bad
is it awesome, is it terrible
I honestly didnt know how to answer them.
I finally desided love is the most complicated of all emotions
Love is kind
love is harsh
love is wonderful
love is terrible
love is a cure
love is a sickness
love is LOVE
love is hate
love is meaningful
love is pointless
love shows the best in people
love shows the worse in people
love makes us speak truth
love makes us lie
love understands everything
love confuses everyone
love builds your life
love tears your heart down
love makes you smile
love makes you cry
love makes us cuddle
love m

SuicideSuicide... they call it sin
They say it is a death in which no-one wins...

They encourage you not to do it, they say it is wrong...
But who is there to encourage you when you can't be strong.

You feel like you have no-one, not even a friend.
No shoulder to cry on, just one last letter to send.

tragedies - collab.you deserve all the cobweb dreams,
fairytale hopes, and explosive love
in the world, but i know that i
will never be the one
to give them to you.

you need notes that end with
'ps - you're brighter than
twenty-seven silver stars'.
i can't bring myself
to write them, though.

it's not like you'd read them,
anyway.

i cut out paper hearts and
dreams and gave them to you, but
you only ripped them up and said
'these aren't good enough.'

when i painted you a picture
of golden skies and sunshine smiles,
you handed it back and told me
'next time, paint realistically.'

so i wrote you a story
filled of starless nights and
hopeless d

the speed addictthe speed addict knows if he stops moving,
he will die. so when inertia takes hold
his heart falters and his head slams against
a future, lit by the dashboard. he hears
his veins stuttering like gears grinding out
a staccato refrain, while the wheel spins and
goes numb. as his breath twists away from his grip,
rasps a hollow plea, he slides on a rail
towards impartial angels leaving rainbow sparks
in his soaring wake, and meets blazing lights.
the addict dies twice. one is nev

heart song.this is the song
to your heart.

listen.

-

part zero.
oh, dearest,
why are you locked inside
a bathroom stall? no one
to hold you, tell you sweet
lies and say you are
beautiful, say you are
perfect? it's not the end of
the world, not yet. if it was,
wouldn't there be
fireworks?

-

part one.

sleeping.

your heart is not yet
dead; please do not
say it is. if it was dead,
it wouldn't hurt this
much.

your heart is only sleeping.

-

part two.

when the only melody in your head
is a break up song, and the only thing
your heart seems capable of doing
is twisting itself into knots, and the only
thing you want to do is hide a

DementiaThe old man sits with stooped back.
The room is cold, just like his hands.
Thoughts have wandered like small children.
He wonders if he will see home again.

Thoughts have wandered home again,
with stooped backs and cold hands.
The room sits with the old man.
Like small children, he wonders if he will see cold.

Back stooped with thoughts, he wanders.
Like a child the small room sits, wondering.
Home again is cold.
The old man will see with his hands.

Thoughts have wandered with stooped backs.
The cold hands sit with the old man.
He wonders if he will see like small children.
The room is home again.

you can't feel through fabrictonight the rain becomes the earth
falling from hidden spaces in the sky and swollen clouds
i hear it make mud of dirt, and lovers of friends
and ask, quiet, where are you going but down?

i’m not all there in the head
you’re not all there in the head, my mother says
i’m not all there in the head i repeat
sometimes i’m there in my toes and fingers and heart as well

and now - in this downpour moment- i lie on the street
so warm that i think well that’s where love’s gotten to
but where is your shirt n? oh someplace else
and is that a light flickering in the house across the road? hide!

i rush in soaken w

This PainTears roll down my face,
As I cut myself,
To release the pain.
It hurts so much,
But feels so good.
The pain is draining from me,
In drops of blood.
As I watch my pain leave from me,
I think,
"How can this be,
That I have so much pain
When I'm only merely 16?".
Then I remember the past that I've had,
Memories of yelling,
slamming doors,
all the awful scars.
I've cried too much,
I've hated so many,
That I don't think people will ever get me.
I come back from my world of thoughts
And realize that I've bled too much,
It's all over the counter,
It's becoming messy,
But I don't care.
I just want this pain out of me.
I'm

Sunday in the Kitchendear mother,

i ask you how far we are from heaven.
hunched over the sunday paper like a patient gargoyle.
your eyes blinking too often, and tongue snaking
around in your mouth, as if the answer is hidden between your teeth.

dear mother,

you hum holy bars in the kitchenette.
say "hallelujah means praise yahweh, praise the lord"
say "angels must rest on the tongue of that word"
say "angels, oh angels hallelujah, hallelujah, rest in me"

but you haven't slept in weeks.
i hear you sob sigh into the night like a prayer.
like your table lamp is the closest thing to heaven-gates.

dear mother,

sometimes i still wish i could pray with you

Let's Hate
Age 11

We met in a room full of crowded people
who knew my name
they knew my face
and they knew things I didn't
Most people there knew his parents
and that was about it; the knowledge ended there

He said, Come with me
and I said no
I made friends with social rejects
and I made enemies with people hard to avoid
We kept in touch
But only

Depressing PoemsSorry --

What if she died?
And at the funeral her parents told you,
"You could have saved her from herself."
How would that make you feel?
And that night you went home
Sat in your room alone
And killed yourself
Just to be with her again and tell her
"I'm sorry."

Friends --

Why do people try to help me?
Do they care?
I guess they do
But all I do is hurt them
Especially Sarah
She keeps trying to help me
But all I do is push her away
She's my best friend
Why can't I just let her help?

Emptiness --

What if I died right now?
How would you fell?
Sad, depressed, torn apart?
Or would you feel nothing,
But an empty place that

when i look in the mirror.one.
things you touch turn silent.

hearts can be blacked, burnt, ashy - but you take the ashes and burn, burn, burn them until there's only a memory left, a memory that's all edges and icicles.

you leave me cold, empty and
i don't want to breathe anymore.

two.
'darling, you would do well to remember-

you can't have a light at the end of the tunnel
if you have no tunnel.

darling, you would do well to remember -

you are not empty. you are not empty.
[it's still hurting, after all. it's still hurting
and you don't want to live,
but you're not empty.]

darling, you would do well to remember-

they love you. they love you,

they love

ocean burning.one.

before she met you, she would reach for the sun while standing on the branches of trees, arms stretched towards the sunlight, reaching and waiting.

now, happiness is like a summer memory in the dead of winter - still there, but fading too fast to hold onto. now, she sits on rooftops with you at night, and the two of you watch as the city lights go out one by one.

two.

sometimes, when you laughed, she was reminded of the wind rushing through trees in winter - melodic and beautiful, but still cold, unforgiving.

the two of you watched the waves of the ocean take away the beach, piece by piece.

you were the waves.

she was the sand.

t

Feeling Adventurous?Oh God...

He's about to pass me,
about to brush me,
about to touch me,
I'm about to die.

He's about to move,
about to look,
about to smile,
I'm about to die.

He's a God.
He's perfect.
He's toxic,
to me,
he's high,
he's light,
he's lust,
he's want,
he's a fever,
he's an ache,
he's a healing,
he's a break,
all I want,
are those lips,
on mine,
all the time,
come to me,
and let me be,
just a little...

But only if you're feeling it,
the way I feel it too,
all I want is you,
come to me,
let me be,
just a litle crazy.

Put my hands in your hair,
put your hands on my waist,
hold me close,
pull me near,
then I'll k

blowing bubbles.last night we
watched the clouds
fall.

and you said:
you are beautiful.

and i am afraid
that i might one day
actually believe you

and

sometimes i feel like
i'm just this big bundle
of problems and i have
been searching and
i can't find the answers.

you told me that the answers
are in blowing bubbles and
tying shoe laces and chasing
dreams, but honestly i just

don't

understand. i have tried
to chase my dreams but

they only run away.

.

you told me that you can't
stand how i sound when i
give up and the hope
is knocked out of me and
you can't stand me when
i am busy counting
the empty spaces in the
walls and

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More from ~MaryStone

eu nao existo aqui - parte iiAdoro a repetição. E todo o meu caos é tudo o que perpassa por ela.
Voltemos ao quarto, de onde das paredes saíam mãos que socavam o corpo sem mais ninguém ver. É a forma como se escolhe abandonar o corpo. Tudo isto a surgir-me debaixo dos dedos e ao mesmo tempo a acontecer. Imagina. Cada soco que levares corresponder a um menos problema, um menos pensar. Que faz falta também. Pensar nada. Agora, dá-me a mão. Fecha os olhos. Respira. Só isto. A música no fundo dos ouvidos a crescer e de repente só existe música. Tu estás, és invisível. O crime da invisibilidade. Entendes que por tanto querermos desaparecer às vezes nos pisam e nem reparam?

eu nao existo aquiExistes em cada parte do chão que os pés calcam com raiva, dor todos os dias, toda a Noite. Acreditas que os olhos escureceram de tal modo que os meus dias passam por mim e obrigam-me a tê-los fechados? Aos olhos, sim. Os que acompanham cada degrau como se nos fosse dada uma nova vida, um novo e pequeno sub mundo. Esses. Os que falaram quando a respiração foi fraca, cada vez mais fraca até cessar… e depois voltar, regressar quieta, muda. Mas voltou. E durante todo o filme se dar, os meus olhos foram abrindo até ao êxtase. Até finalmente estarem a um passo da Vida e da Morte também. Quase que explodiram. E eu ria-me. Tola. Talvez não fosse exa

a humanizacao de diendaQuestionava-se, enquanto agarrava os braços para que não terminassem de tanto tombo, por que razão não cessava nos episódios em que punha a música alta o suficiente para os ouvidos sangrarem?
Esta questão e todo o cenário que a envolve seria a Mais importante de sempre.

Que surjam respostas, sejam quais elas forem.

As suas palavrasMaria, de seu nome, seria mais um corpo em que as palavras fossem de quem fosse ecoariam a cada segundo com toda a força. Todo o seu silêncio seria assustadoramente enigmático, belo, redutor. Os olhos perdiam-se no chão. As mãos agrafadas nos bolsos. Fora de si, atentados que nunca se terminariam. Hoje. As suas palavras. Valem. O. Mesmo. Que. o Silêncio. Todo ele assustador. Cada centímetro do corpo-silêncio. Cada palavra-centímetro.

terceira parteEscrever-te nomes de ruas consecutivamente seria substituir o vício de te pensar em todos os segundos que disponho do Tempo total para ti. Pensar na solitude não dói mas pensar-te só, sim e não me acanho nos sentidos quando estás por perto. É saber-te os gestos mesmo sem te conhecer de dentro para fora e depois estagnar os membros por breves instantes e voltar ao que sou, ao que sempre fui e ainda que reste um pouco de vácuo, a forma como penso o Tempo para ti se mantenha pura, sã, intacta. Para ti nunca há-de haver regras nem pontuação.

dedicado

segunda partePegar nos instrumentos com que te faço aqui e dentro do corpo é sentir-te mais perto da máquina que habita em mim. É sentir-te bem mais perto que eu-mesma de mim mesma. Saber-te o nome e não poder gritar-to ao ouvido como quem já não precisa de nomes para habitar a pele um do outro - isto seria o mais próximo possível que eu estaria de um ser humano. Que o és. Que o deves ser - se não me falham os olhos e as mãos. Enquanto a voz atraiçoa, corpo dissolve-se em partes. Pergunto-me, embrulhada, se em algum momento vês o mesmo que eu? Se te vês como eu te vejo? E não te conheço. A voz, finalmente, recua embargada embora tu saibas que o percurso n

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A desoras

by ~MaryStone, Feb 18, 2007, 6:50:55 PM
Literature / Poetry / Experimental / Other

são demais as horas em que perco a tentar achar-me
quase como uma técnica imperfeita de quem desenha
inúmeros esboços de uma perspectiva

recosto-me na cadeira e fico horas

sem ver mais ninguém senão a ilusória
e dolorosa imagem do espelho imaginário
tudo está ordeiramente arrumado e calmo do lado de lá

e o chão lambe-me os pés em movimentos transatlânticos
e intrauniversais em segundos-luz de cio social

mas saltam as farpas reflectoras do vidro
com a minha face desgrenhada e sou insistentemente
abolido do meu corpo laico e lacerado pelo ontem

o lugar de passageiro sempre foi mais seguro
e estou já estou cansada de guiar em contra-mão

A desorasby ~MaryStone

Literature / Poetry / Experimental / Other

Título: A Desoras (fora de horas)

Escrito por: Sérgio Ribeiro

e Maria Rocha

Fevereiro de 2007

~headuphigh Feb 24, 2008 Photographer

bastante introspectivo e auto analítico. gosto da maneira como descreves uma situação para descreveres uma pessoa. do que li acho que é o teu moif mais abrangente. pegas em "quadros" e em ti. e juntas tudo num momentozinho onde acontecem mil e uma coisas. cenas assim dão-me vontade d voltar a escrever. : |

~MaryStone Feb 28, 2008

Este, como deves ter percebido, é uma colaboração, mas a tua interpretação, pelo menos, na minha parte está correcta. E na parte do Sérgio também, certamente, mas só ele se pode manifestar. E é muito bom saber que ficaste com vontade de voltar a escrever.fui ao teu outro espaço no dA em que tens lá um texto e gostei. Porque não continuas?

~headuphigh Feb 29, 2008 Photographer

um dia. tenho coisitas escritas aqui no pc. 2as ou três. se quiseres mostro-te e no meu journal tb tão duas acho eu. vaicuscar vai já q curtiste o outro. : P

~SuibroM Apr 29, 2007 Hobbyist Writer

Horas perdidas ou ganhas?

Vocês são um assombro

*

~MaryStone Apr 30, 2007

Fora de horas, apenas. Nem perdidas nem ganhas.

Pff... não somos nada, pá!

*

~SuibroM May 1, 2007 Hobbyist Writer

São, são que eu estou aqui e vi!!

~A-Boneca Mar 1, 2007

acho que juntos, vocês fazem um dos melhores pares que já vi em escrita...

adoro tudo, principalmente os dois últimos versos. dão o fim perfeito. (: *

~MaryStone Mar 1, 2007

Muito obrigada pelas palavras...

*

~A-Boneca Mar 6, 2007

de nada, merece-las. *

~menina-as-riscas Feb 24, 2007

vocês os dois

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