sexta-feira, 22 de maio de 2026

Burning the portrait

 You are there taking advantage of life
Your long hair tells a story
you don't want me to know, I walk in foreign
The man in your life stands next to you

Such magnificient platitudes you both share
I am the listener the observer, I am strange
You feel like you are selling your advice to me
But I am not focused on your over optimism

Just the juxtapose of you and your man together
pretending everything is perfect
Sitting before the perturbed artist
Who cannot capture your likeness

For there is no authenticity
The world is not a purchase
Even as they teach you it is so
Living is not a recipe

You cannot cook yourself to freedom
You wander behind the white rose thinking you are invisible
You wander behind the red one and the color clings to your aura
I come into view and you blush midfantasy

The family portrait in spontaneous combustion
Can you feel that heat reflecting as the rest of the room catches
Can you see me holding the matches
Can you see me, just a cup of gasoline?


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