“Carnival Party Place” – One sort of too true Brazil…

Welcome, or, well done!

All lone to those, holly full and ahead...

I stun province for a chosen road,

In where we go,

A road or a tense street,

When I sit to wish,

And sat, stay cold…

I’ll remember but the young,

Among whom I’ve been hurt,

I give the shot of trying to hold on,

Falling under a cold same sun,

Calling nation to wave bye,

Calling responsibles to be around,

And me,

Being still stopped owning life,

Tenderness, support or serious breath…

To a you any else,

When I call you to a choice will you wrong it too?

I call for humble emptiness I’m obeying to feel miserable,

Being so alone and left aside, that I need light less than I need the further…

Alone and quietly smart, I crash my feelings when to a world rushing good heart.

If I get the good and only that, I go passed a leg trap,

A stabbed back, even not understanding why so hard, at same person,

During the wills of a unique given life…

What’s unpaid and what’s obviously never punished,

Goes dieing importance in waves of the efficient erasing time.

I don’t feel any sort of commitment at any acts I shall deserve for my official silence, lost to others fun at a sadness,

And to be left doing adorable nothings at the pleasing peace I insist to have.

I should complain more, legalize what must be not freed at happening, only I’m small, afraid and diving into the unfairness taking my nation, my country and my people…

Here, nothing wrong goes to circus jail, no money goes to right people, and no thinking values a ‘well done, thank you’…

This Brazil is a sort of land of no one, where the tourism is more sexual than in a pink house of a wrong president saying shames, having no past or help.

In here, nothing fixes, nothing goes thanking when a progress is made, none of dedicated beings is worth a prize…

Nothing goes all right, all kinds of nothings…

We become a nothing people, surviving the war of mocking disgrace to be funny in an entertainment moment, when that story of sadness goes money to characters…

I don’t see where to me, it got better, adapted, or punished minimally appropriated for the circumstances I’ve been shut about.

I’ve passed, for example, last year through a situation of severe torture in a public hospital in tastes of kidnapping or scenes in witch I was naked only victim.

Nothing goes under law, because what’s made was in bunch.

What a young life and recently graduated doctors do to fix what went seriously traumatic and lost in time…?

Nothing, they have a group, I had no clothes, and on…

Thirst, laughing at me, hours of cold and hunger, in a closed door Holly House of public hospital in São Paulo…

Went all with other alls, leaving behind in time. But to me, any cold feeling I feel now, gets me to remember that, (in a sort of shock situation) no young cruel doctor will explain to a judge why after doing harm, deserve to continue acting as one.

As like in so many other absurd happened to me, this goes counting on time to erase it from my cries…

Well, what can erase my tears from my invaded house at injured stuff, if I’m a great care taker?

What in earth is right about unpunished people?

The “I’m sorry” goes dead with who killed me.

However, I insist in hope and in staying with a fight to be won, against the shocked situation I’m dealing with, for so many years, so ruff memories, all I can do is get mature to hide it all…

I can sit still, even resistant to horror that I’m disciplining to stay as far as I can from my thinking, mainly when I’m about to close eyes to sleep full of hope in the human getting the belongs to be called like that, and not being a defect.

Animals are not as terrible, so a terrible human being can’t be named for terror acts, an animal.

In respect of what an animal is never fulfilled with bad intentions and/or perverse “let me see what happens WHEN I hurt you…”

There’s an injured nature, that sounds like wild brick jungle where we replace what had good air to breath and natural growth or time of life at every untouched item…

My lungs don’t like to breath our “progress”.

My hope doesn’t like to pray not to be hurt ever again, or taken from home, or be made a clown, about who will develop laughs at my dreams…

My heart hates to remember being made a ridiculous love to who never earned me full…

My mouth doesn’t like to remember the thirst passed under torture…

My naked body doesn’t like to remember that I NEVER SHOULD have obeyed the order of “take of your clothes and put in this bag”… So I was the only one felling cold and undressed…

Cold is not supposed to take an injection of dope that crashed me down…

I was not waiting for surgery to be in the state and in hands that I was…

But the time, almost does a perfect voting job…

It almost gets smart enough to give me the prize of forgetting the absurd embarrassment and the hours of a year passed almost, it’s all so like yesterday… That time’s almost clever…

As I am to insist in the “no revenge!” fight with myself… To fight for human rights, in cash paying of a crime of torture…

For I’m silent brilliant to understand the unfairness of Brazil at what leaves to stimulate others to commit terrible crimes…

Time erases, jail here is for who can’t pay to leave, our police is more thief than a junkie, and the study goes washed down under rain or spit…

This is a place that you can come, be the worst you’re curious about, not ever worrying… You’ll always be free to rob, kill, rape, torture, etc…

And go country home after your worst discovered about yourself… To be serious and follow rules…

Here, you’re free to be a devil.

I’d say, you’d be stimulated to be worse than how you naturally would…

There are others!, needing to be attenuated at what had done.