I walk through paths of sorrow and pain. Death and suffering by my side. A torment of raging sadness inside my heart urge my to scream and cry. I'm again alone and again in disarray. I want to quit my life and retreat in solitude. I made too many mistakes and forgot too many things to keep going.

I sign my resign today. Next week will be my last one. No to focus on this last eyar in college. Time to get my major in Computer Engineering. There should be no more excuses. NO more delays.

How do you express frustration? How can you measure how much your life is disturbed? When can someone know there is time to stop, give up happiness, and trows everything on the air.

Right now this is a post so you all know that I'm still alive. Working is making my life a hell. And I've been pretty sick ( flu, cold, sinusitis and all that crap). But today some good news at least arrived by snail mail. The forum from Garotas que Dizem Ni made a Secret Santa and I was luckily select by a friend cartoonist, named Hemeterio. If it wasn't enough to get his book, with all those astonishing beautiful images, I received too the First Volume of the bilingual (original english and portuguese translation) of the Complete Poems of T.S. Eliot. So  shall have quite a wonderful time reading that.

Thank again mate. Thanks a lot

what flavor pocky are you?

[c] sugardew

I feel loneliness
An wither in my sofa.
I get rid of my clothes
As there is no more meaning to them.

I shave my beard
My head, and my eyebrowns
ON a desperate attempt
Of getting ride of myself.

I want to be someone else
To feel wanted
Needed and loved

But nothing can do that
And my life wither away.

This is The Highwayman, a clever structured poem of Alfred Noyes. It was later made to music by Loreena Mcknnitt, it is worth every moment you take to ready, or listen to it.

The Highwayman

By Alfred Noyes

Part One
                                I
The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees,
The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
The road was a ribbon of moonlight, over the purple moor,
And the highwayman came riding-
                Riding-riding-
The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn-door.

                                II
He'd a French cocked-hat on his forehead, a bunch of lace at his chin,
A coat of the claret velvet, and breeches of brown doe-skin;
They fitted with never a wrinkle: his boots were up to the thigh!
And he rode with a jewelled twinkle,
                His pistol butts a-twinkle,
His rapier hilt a-twinkle, under the jewelled sky.

                                III
Over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark inn-yard,
And he tapped with his whip on the shutters, but all was locked and barred;
He whistled a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord's black-eyed daughter,
                Bess, the landlord's daughter,
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.

                                IV
And dark in the old inn-yard a stable-wicket creaked
Where Tim the ostler listened; his face was white and peaked;
His eyes were hollows of madness, his hair like mouldy hay,
But he loved the landlord's daughter,
                The landlord's red-lipped daughter,
Dumb as a dog he listened, and he heard the robber say-

                                V
"One kiss, my bonny sweetheart, I'm after a prize to-night,
But I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light;
Yet, if they press me sharply, and harry me through the day,
Then look for me by moonlight,
                Watch for me by moonlight,
I'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way."

                                VI
He rose upright in the stirrups; he scarce could reach her hand,
But she loosened her hair i' the casement! His face burnt like a brand
As the black cascade of perfume came tumbling over his breast;
And he kissed its waves in the moonlight,
                (Oh, sweet black waves in the moonlight!)
Then he tugged at his rein in the moonlight, and galloped away to the West.

Part Two
                                I
He did not come in the dawning; he did not come at noon;
And out o' the tawny sunset, before the rise o' the moon,
When the road was a gipsy's ribbon, looping the purple moor,
A red-coat troop came marching-
                Marching-marching-
King George's men came marching, up to the old inn-door.

                                II
They said no word to the landlord, they drank his ale instead,
But they gagged his daughter and bound her to the foot of her narrow bed;
Two of them knelt at her casement, with muskets at their side!
There was death at every window;
                And hell at one dark window;
For Bess could see, through the casement, the road that he would ride.

                                III
They had tied her up to attention, with many a sniggering jest;
They bound a musket beside her, with the barrel beneath her breast!
"Now keep good watch!" and they kissed her.
                She heard the dead man say-
Look for me by moonlight;
                Watch for me by moonlight;
I'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way!

                                IV
She twisted her hands behind her; but all the knots held good!
She writhed her hands till here fingers were wet with sweat or blood!
They stretched and strained in the darkness, and the hours crawled by like
years,
Till, now, on the stroke of midnight,
                Cold, on the stroke of midnight,
The tip of one finger touched it! The trigger at least was hers!

                                V
The tip of one finger touched it; she strove no more for the rest!
Up, she stood up to attention, with the barrel beneath her breast,
She would not risk their hearing; she would not strive again;
For the road lay bare in the moonlight;
                Blank and bare in the moonlight;
And the blood of her veins in the moonlight throbbed to her love's refrain.

                                VI
     Tlot-tlot; tlot-tlot! Had they heard it? The horse-hoofs
ringing clear;
Tlot-tlot, tlot-tlot, in the distance? Were they deaf that they did
not hear?
Down the ribbon of moonlight, over the brow of the hill,
The highwayman came riding,
                Riding, riding!
The red-coats looked to their priming! She stood up strait and still!

                                VII
Tlot-tlot, in the frosty silence! Tlot-tlot, in the echoing night
!
Nearer he came and nearer! Her face was like a light!
Her eyes grew wide for a moment; she drew one last deep breath,
Then her finger moved in the moonlight,
                Her musket shattered the moonlight,
Shattered her breast in the moonlight and warned him-with her death.

                                VIII
He turned; he spurred to the West; he did not know who stood
Bowed, with her head o'er the musket, drenched with her own red blood!
Not till the dawn he heard it, his face grew grey to hear
How Bess, the landlord's daughter,
                The landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Had watched for her love in the moonlight, and died in the darkness there.

                                IX
Back, he spurred like a madman, shrieking a curse to the sky,
With the white road smoking behind him and his rapier brandished high!
Blood-red were his spurs i' the golden noon; wine-red was his velvet coat,
When they shot him down on the highway,
                Down like a dog on the highway,
And he lay in his blood on the highway, with a bunch of lace at his throat.

        *       *       *       *       *       *

                                X
And still of a winter's night, they say, when the wind is in the trees,
When the moon is a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
When the road is a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,
A highwayman comes riding-
                Riding-riding-
A highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn-door.

                                XI
Over the cobbles he clatters and clangs in the dark inn-yard,
And he taps with his whip on the shutters, but all is locked and barred;
He whistles a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord's black-eyed daughter,
                Bess, the landlord's daughter,
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.

Notes:

This is the original version of The Highwayman, copyrighted 1906, 1913.

For mistakes can not be easily undone. And as life keeps your course, the pain of the mistake never fades. You keep your wicked days, living in a black room, crying tears that won't fall, and watching the happiness of the other one. You wish you were her, you had that strenght, you wish you could came back in time, and un-say that silly phrase, undo that silly act. Give some reason to a pationate heart. One that keeps forgeting the consequency of its acts.

There should be a way to make things normal again, but life is not my friend, and time is not by my side. Silly mistakes have no love from fate, as it laughs on you. For now I will go, and wither again...

I lay down on the grass.
The cold raindrops wets my cloths.
I shiver but I don't move,
My tears cannot be seen by her

My strenght wither as my heart bleaks.
Darkness shroud myself,
And emptiness takes my body,
Filling it with pure void.

The tears warm my face,
Making me shiver even more.
Noone deserves this feelling,
Specialy as a punishment,
Of your own mistake.

I was wrong. I choose wrong.

Now it is too late.