Olha, provavelmente precisa de revisão, mas eu vou deixar aqui assim mesmo. E foda-se.
Sometimes I burn people and
Death by burn on fire, on cold,
On booze (it counts like chemical burning I guess), on shame,
But always burned. Never by boiling.
Does it seem cheesy if I say that
Sometimes I burn other person in love?
That “Elvis-said” love..?
People to ashes. Heart to dust.
And it hurts. People keep moving,
Bruised, but never burnt.
So if you can, stand a continent away
From me. For me. For you.
Or jump in this Hell-of-a-Life
And burn with myself, inside and around myself.
Become that Supernova. That one, here.
Reborn in its own near-death, shining,
On the limit of a glimpse
Before it fades away and consume everything around you.
A black hole’s memory of past intensities.
A memory of a black hole of intensities pasts.