jo-clouds

é janeiro e já dispo a roupa os poucos amigos são todos suicidas há ratos nas obras desistidas violadores atrás das paragens de autocarros. hajam as sombras sempre ao meu lado para fingir que não me rejeitam a mão nestes escombros esquecidos do céu de subúrbios sombrios, vazios de ti e de bocados de mim dispersos pelo frio da noite enquanto espero para ir para casa.

Tenho andado feita ferida pisada em carne viva vermelha de sangrar. Preciso de um penso para a minha ferida, penso rápido para ela sarar. Penso rápido coisas bonitas penso coisas para animar. Penso que um dia a sorte muda e que nesse dia vais voltar. E penso também outras coisas que não façam mais sangue pingar. Penso nos dias de sol que aí vêm que não precisam de dois para se apreciar.

Fecham-se as portas o ar não existe não existe nada de agora quando as pálpebras caem e vem o dilacerante do peito de ferida descoberta e impossibilidade. O ego encolhe-se de vergonha e conforma-se com a vontade de outro muito maior do que si. O amante é recordado, o instante tão usual que não deixa memória.

All thoughts of you have been replaced, I've washed my skin countless times. And though I sit to write these lines, my slate is clean, my debt is paid. My eyes are bright, the wind is cold, I'm my own again, and wiser. Hindsight feels as natural as any story I never starred in.

It was the morning after and mom was still alive. At least, that's what she could gather from the slight rise and descent of the mass under the bedsheets. The sharp whisk of sunlight coming in and falling over it wasn't making it stir. Do comatose people breathe? For a second, she thought of asking one of her friends in medical school. In an effort to vocalize where she was going, just in case the mass was listening, she mumbled out school, her voice sounding too high and too heavy in the thickly silenced room. Not wanting to think of what else to do, she quickly grabbed her cardigan, scarf and bag, and headed out. She immediately regretted

Prologue Everyone walking and breathing has a life, and every life has a beginning and an end. I guess it’s obvious that when you die, you don’t want to feel disappointed with what you did (it would feel kind of horrible). Which is why people have always looked for something to live for. I think people live to keep living…which would be the same as saying they live to be around forever. Think about it: throughout the ages, people have created countries, painted things, founded religions, fought wars, written books, so they would be remembered after their deaths. Getting married and having kids is another way of sticking around

Michael Bennet is your average boy. He could have any average middle-class family in any average western country in the whole world. But no matter how average and predictable his life may set out to be, there are things he has to learn and discover throughout. These are his findings. I #1: Sometimes, things don't work out the way you'd want them to. The only light in the room was the big, four-shaped, lit candle, white with a red border, nestled into a seemingly homemade but carefully and lovingly decorated rectangular birthday cake, with whipped cream and fruit and lettering in red icing. Little Michael clung to his father’s arm,