a forca (ou a sua vontade declarada).

there's a gloved hand strangling me, always.

my neck gets exhausted
and my life crooked
because I never die.
sometimes I try to reach for your hand
and caress it, with the most tender joy
even when it's already busy
trying to murder me, slowly.

I hardly breathe beneath your fingers
a creepy clown's smile on my face
and the hope that one day a lightning bolt
would hit you, like a moving car
and this suffering will fade
into the cloudy sky
of your face, wrist and hatred.