Gentle smoke

In the mist of a fog light, torches are being lighted, smoke appears and sorrow disdains.
In the air screams appear as someone is being stabbed, the stabbed one, pulls a knife out of his pocket and neon lights flicker and shine.
In the bar where people meet everybody’s arguing, talking loud and ravaging in anger as some cursed insect passes through the hall, the hall is dirty and is covered with lacks of ink everywhere, while outside someone’s freezing in the snow, waiting for a cigarette, for a dime, for something to fulfil his soul.
Inside the bar a party’s on, everybody eats and spits, and drinks, lots of food everywhere, drink’s spoiled on the floor and a dragnet is called.
The soul appears asking for a smoke, she sees muscles, body odour, red hairs and people with few teeth on.
She breathes oxygen mixed with alcohol and tobacco and thinks that it’s cold out there, and she should be here.
A hairless man appears to her and asks her, her reason for being there, she asks for a smoke, everybody’s laughing while she sees spoiled food and drinks on the floor.
Then another one comes with long hair and no teeth on, as she asked before she feels compelled to repeat herself:

"I just want a smoke she said; it’s freezing outside, I’m cold and hungry", the man starts to look at her, he can’t keep his eyes of her body, she’s dressed in brown and has gentle cheeks and long black hair. 

You can’t have it here, do you think we are rich men?! 

- He said.
She’s thin and pale, she’s inside, being outside and living these moments in this bar.
You don’t belong here. Was told in chorus throughout the bar. 

Your place is outside.
She goes outside, feeling inside, she breathes and starts to shake, but it’s something that she can rely on.
The scarecrow talks with her, don’t you like it here?!
Yes, I do, but it’s cold here, I’m hungry and I must have a smoke quickly.
The scarecrow’s agitated, his arms are all twisted and suddenly he jumps on the lake nearby, leaving the girl utterly alone.
What should I do? 

– She says.
It’s raining, it isn’t raining, she jumps and flees, breathing what she needs, seeking what she wants, a lousy cigarette, dropped on the floor by some careless smoker.
She smokes it and feels tenderness inside her, feels complete, not cold anymore, only a fag, a lousy one.
She leaves that place and enters in a long red corridor, she sees places, forgotten people, ancient books, strange dialects and someone’s shoulder in someone’s head. 

She walks through it without seeing anything.
Some couples are running or perhaps not, some masks are covered. She thinks not.
Unravelling the masks, she sees cold and dust, everything’s dusty.
She prepares herself to run after someone, to ask he, she or it, where she is.
No answer given, whispered words and complete silence.
She climbs thousands of stairs in spiral path and finds an occasional light in the walls, in the pores.
Descending and climbing towards it, a similar stone appears and its smell is of grey and dirty colours, doesn’t shine only twists over unbalanced shadows.
The path’s long and the consequences start to appear and all appears in its true form, clean and cleansed.
In a shell, cockroaches appear and the taste of fresh potatoes in the cellar, makes them feel dizzy.
Num frenesim constante ela sobe e desce enquanto escuta os sons da chuva, do vento e da multidão.
Os sussurros permanecem escondidos no vento e na noite, os sapos chilreiam and the birds start to sing in the moonlight.
Distant echoes remain fixed and lyrical, she hears footsteps after her and starts to run away, to yell, but she’s trapped in the box, in the spiral path.
She sees an exit and she runs after it, a small chair and a window in the form of a triangle. She climbs to the chair, looks at the window and sees lots of stairs down there.
Breaking the window, she feels safe and secure, she jumps to a place filled with mud.
Breathless and speechless, she climbs to a tree, forgetting what she saw and sensing her presence and essence in that place.
The tree speaks with her about hundreds of years, people and feelings, she can’t link it all, so she plugs deeply in its leaves.
A betrayal, an act of sacrifice, lots of bubbles appear when she’s having a bath in a lake nearby, following footsteps and seeing everything.
Living in white and for getting what’s wrong with having fire and being red, she exists, she’s linked as she blinks.
Paper and dolls, morceaux de sa vie sont lá, elle n’est pas lá.
Vergessen die welt, sie muss das fühlen und deiner herz nicht hier ist.
Heute, sie macht nicht was sie will.
Mittwoch und wochende ist neu, die guen mit ihr ist.
Sie will tanzen und singen, sie hat kein zeit, ihrer zeit ist für essen.