Le chat

Il faut bien mourir de quelque chose
Me dit un chat aventureux;
De stupidité, de peur ou de pénurie
De poésie, d’amour ou de whisky
Mais il faut bien mourir.
Il faut partir de telle façon
Que les yeux de la mort
Pleurent avec passion
D’une vie si pure prendre.
Mourir ne pourrait jamais
Être quelque chose nette
Sans que l’on lui laisse
L’art qui reste pour naître.
Je regarda le chat vivre
Toujours en harmonie
Avec le temps et sa nature
Il maîtrise la quiétude.
Et ce comportement
Enivra avec ardeur
La flamme renaissante
D’une âme réjouissante.
Et entre les griffes du félin
Ecœurées de la guerre sans fin
J’ai aperçu mon être défilant
Face aux portes de la raison.
Le chat m’a quitté sans adieu
Une larme a lâchée mon œil
L’autre œil resta souriant
Face aux neuves expériences.


J’ai baisé la mort 

Son maquillage coulait 

Elle pleurait, elle pleurait, 

Entre la profondeur de sa gorge 

Mon membre était bloqué. 

Elle aimait, elle aimait 

Quand c’était dur et animé, 

Comme une sauvage elle me torche 

Et mon dos elle griffait. 

Ses lèvres grandissant 

Tout autour du gland, 

Ses yeux se dilatataient

Quand ses seins elle découvrait. 

C’était pas une chienne 

C’était une déesse, 

Elle jouissait en silence 

Se divertissait entre rôles. 

L’amour la rendait aveugle 

Mon membre devenait anxieux, 

Son bijou dansant me parlait 

Son arrière m’a empoisonné. 

La meilleure façon de coucher 

Est de baiser jusqu’à la mort, 

Quand elle viendra nous chercher

Notre vivacité lui fera peur. 

Death is smiling at my sleeping

I feel like everyday
It’s getting me closer
To my very end.
People are just so fake
So not good to each other
I just fade
And cry away.
I hide in my room,
Thoughts coming out
Of my sick mind.
I remember more
As I’m eager to forget
That you’re not by my side
But drugs are,
And my brain falls apart
Making everything clear
And all so unreal
That my soul can’t take
The swords you cave in.
So I lay here
Waiting for something
Or someone
To save me.
But no-one will come
Everyone will go
And fuck with my feelings.
My dad left
My mum stayed
But her intensive love
Just kills me deeper
And I’m going crazy
Crazy, crazy, crazy…
I locked myself inside
This brain of mine
And I’m being bullied
By the thoughts I created.
I’m never going to find
The place I wanna be
I’m never gonna be
The person I pretended.
These fake smiles
These freezing lies
I can’t take that much
All by myself.
I saw Death
The other night
Standing at the end
Of my comfortable bed
And she laughed
In a sadistic way
I’ll never forget.
I saw a thousand lights,
A hundred bees
Coming for me
And my sheets
Could not save me
From these monsters
Drugs created
Inside my being.


A word of redemption

The day
Or night
Death will come
To finally hunt me
I’ll wait for her
Right here
With a joint
Between my fingertips,
Still writing poems
About my loved one
Reaching for poetry
Like a child for ice cream.
She will look at me
And laugh at me,
But also be afraid of my being
Who has lived without fear
Always accepting its troubles
And about them writing poems.
So I’ll speak
In my tone
As big as meek;
‘I’ll go with you
Beautiful broken angel,
But not until you
Let me write my last creation
A word of redemption
A song of imitation,
Returning to my childhood
So Death will read my words
About lost innocence
And broken souls
And she would tremble
Before taking me
To my future time
As a giant forgotten tree.


The beauty of the dead ones

And here I find myself
Lie down in my dark bed
Surrounded by my books and guitar
Knowing how I failed,
Death is smoking my cigars
And I don’t seem to mind.
Day by day
I go though this bed
Writing poems about women
I’ve never met
About a society
I’ve never changed.
Death is approaching
Telling me to stop worrying
That one day, it’ll be easy
For her to catch me
But everyday I write more
And love music more
And death can’t cross
This enormous road
I take to escape
From her or maybe faith.
Lying there again
It’s almost 4 a.m
But my eyes don’t want to sleep
They just want your lips
Against mines
As a tribute
To Venus’s arm,
The beauty of the broken ones.
I read and I write
And Death seems to fight back
But I have enough cigarettes
To go through the process
Of completing myself
And finish another day.