pstlapsecassiel

Speak to me, Muse, and break my hesitation to plunge past the edge of caution and disregard all sense of propriety as I fling myself into the thin air of odds that are both impossible and attainable. Draw me into a half-madness of faith in my own capacity to speak of what often makes words disintegrate before they can reach my tongue, knowing that theyll fail to encompass what I mean to say. Make me say it anyway. Show the lie of any attempt to appear aloof, of any semblance of this other guy who is self controlled and not me, and let me let your siren song make me burst out of my own skin in a recovery of my own self.

Quando eu passei por aqui
When I came by here
A minha luta
My struggle
Foi exibir uma vontade fela da puta de ser Americano
Was to show a sonofabitch of a will to be American

But I am not

Days spent in a vacuum of longing for an imagined future where I am back, still failing, but enraptured because of something altogether different from now. Love letters get sent to recipients that do not exist, plans get made out of memories of possibilities that could not quite come to fruition but that refuse to die. My Muse sleeps, oblivious to the storm that rages in silence.

Meanwhile, I'll be damned if I let the mundane gouge my eyes again.