Supercílio

E o que será de mim se esse nós que ainda existe virar apenas eu. Se eu me arrepender e deixar a sós toda voz que ainda dá pra escutar. Lançar mão de tudo o que nunca escolhi me desapegar. Andar pronde o vento aponte, feito pássaro que voa longe. Paro. Me alastro. Me afasto pra te ver assim de um jeito que não seja escancaradamente só meu. Sinto falta de perder o tato, nesses segundos que andam correndo demais. Mas há mais do que isso e insisto. Não há cisco que impeça o que todo mundo pode ver a olho nu. Vestígios vestidos de toda essa história que parece fardo, parece sarro, parece sumir a cada vez que ela insiste em se abrir. E o que será de mim se eu me perder dentro de você? Submerso em versos, afogado em acasos cínicos, cego e cítrico, ácido, flácido. Desesperadamente mundano. Sem me atirar nunca vou saber se você me chamaria pra dançar. E o que seria de nós sem todas as minha dúvidas. Sem todas as minhas mudanças de opinião. Sem toda essa minha fraqueza que não deixa o meu peso desabar no chão.

Methamorphosis

"One morning , when I woke from troubled dreams , I found myself transformed in my bed into a horrible bug".
-This it 's not possible . It's worst then a joke , it's a plagiarism!
For someone who had always the dream to become a writer , it was the end . Worse than waking up as a cockroach, was the knowledge that it was already had been written decades ago by a renowned author.

It all started in my last English class when the teacher asked me what I was reading. After answering Kafka, he asked me to write a few lines about the book. Ok, homework. Because I had not finished the book yet , I passed the weekend immersed in its last pages like a cockroach in a sewer. When I finally finish it, I ended up falling asleep . Then I was there, a cockroach in person, late for class and the worst: no homework done. That was a really bad monday morning. Despite having a much better excuse than the classic “the dog ate my work” , I decided to face the challenge and cross the city center to go to school. My plan consisted in explaining in person why I didn't do the homework. I had evidence that something very serious had prevented me from doing that. Myself. On the streets, I began to suffer the symptoms of lack of originality in my story. Different from the Kafka’s cockroach, with human proportions , I was a small cockroach like any other. I had turned myself into something more invisible then an illegal immigrant. Luckily I managed to get hung ride on a dog's skin. The animal did not notice anything because was as stone as the Adidas Poster Guy which led him by the collar. The north side accent did not disappoint me and soon I could see the school walls. Few moments later, I was in front of my classroom closed door. It was late, but for the first time in life I had a good excuse. I heard some footsteps and then the door opened. Suddenly I was hit . My teacher stepped on me on the way to the Xerox. Neither noticed the crisp sound of my small bug body craked. "Then, without my willing it , my head sank down completely, and my last breath flowed weakly from my nostrils."

Apart from that , few minutes later only it was possible to hear the teacher asking "Homework? Homework? Anyone?".