COINCIDENCES

  I keep records and memories. in the dark I write. I enjoy solitude. airtight ; hermetic, cryptic and esoteric. trying to unveil secrets. inward we go. d ifferent lives. s idewalks. joy. leaping puddles in the dark. dreams and fantasies. the past and collective memories. archetypes of woman- wolves and deep waters of fertile art shines above my crown. shrines of the psyche. keep asking myself the same questions.no matter the route I make the same mistakes. Amor Fati? It was the love I was creating inside a MC. Escher's painting. climbing and descending paradigms. where are the flight of stairs? I want to fly. looking for love in objects and souls. matter. It doesn't matter. I was refuting solitude because I never had the gift of self reflection. it hurts; it will. always. there are no escape goats. I pass by the bar, by the memory, by the park, by the painting, bye, bye. it went away like a kite in a storm. tying treads. connecting imaginary red strings. superstitions a

*source:  Bing Waiting for the song to communicate through us  because we have learned to be mute They feel sorry for our souls lingering around confused by the hate  attacked by the loneliness  Standing I picture  the absence of your pride of your ego  walking hand by hand with mine Illusions of love The façade masked of collective despair   For never figuring out how it felt For never mistaken guilt for pain   Isn't weird the monster of frustration ? We needed each other without any reason And while the sun kept you hidden    I dreamt about you chasing cloudy days  Like a miracle  running into my arms melting that metal heart in front of mine Reminiscing the melancholy that never existed  Escapisms and  fantasies our lives in a canvas  mirroring  Rorschach tests solely analyzing  inkblots of happiness . Anita Mendes      

With the delicacy of a dagger  I felt your lack of love stabbed on my back   your beautiful face smiling and looking at my pain  wishing that it would never end Your unknown inside that bottle of scotch  Translucent crosses the glass separating the living room  that light  tries to scape to the outside that light  tries to trap all your fears Your eyes look desperate and scared They have already  foreseen the end  Separation seeks for disappointment  Disappointment seeks to impress the obvious  She likes shaking the hand of the hypocrites  She wishes to cynically reverse the irreversible  Intense love is an unfortunate thing; it never last Bleeding I sit down and write my last poem   Your slippery hands can't hold my broken heart Slowly you give me the glue to mend  (in a sincere attempt to put all the pieces together in time) Indefinite is the time's charm We insist in synchronize that old felling into my shattered heart  Slowly it starts pulsing in your hands without luck It