Um poema que me marcou desde os 11 anos e que continua muito actual
The killer lives inside me:
yes, I can feel him move.
Sometimes he's lightly sleeping in the quiet of his room
but then his eyes
will rise and stare through mine;
he'll speak my words and slice my mind inside...
Yes the killer lives.
The angels live inside me:
I can feel them smile.
Their presence strokes and soothes the tempest in my mind;
And their love
can heal the wounds that I have wrought,
They watch me as I go to fall - well, I know I shall be caught
While the angels live.
How can I be free?
How can I get help?
Am I really me?
Am I someone else?
But stalking in my cloisters hang the acolytes of gloom
and Death's
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