então, me visto de solidão e fico preso. afasto as pessoas repelindo os sentimentos enquanto vou lapidando as arestas, apenas destruindo o resultado final. finjo-me forte, enquanto por dentro definho com cada corte.

calma, é o que todos dizem. calma, tudo passa.

e a saúde a piorar.

we are all artists, we all have to somehow express ourselves, we all think we are more important than we really are, the aesthetic doesn't matter, the materials doesn't matter, we all guess the outcome, we choke on the mirror image, we lick it, kiss it and break it, and with a wounded frame we press on, the bleeding, the itching, fingernails painted red like the color of our lips.

like the weight of a thousand anvils on our shoulders.