( Read more... )

I’ve spread pieces of you on my bedroom walls (my fragile way of keeping you close) and I keep changing them from place to place so I can return later and discover all seven differences during a small minute. Fall out pieces end up fading, but I do not ask what they’ve taken in their pockets as you do not qualm the light from a full moon. I think ( Read more... )

You know of the fog but you flee inward. Fear is a strange planet, but I see you coming from the opposite sidewalk, all your light stealing that of noon. Not asphalt but a foot on the sand and all the wind of the world brings whispers of you. What purpose does love serves, what strange essence nourishes its arrival, so that a tune becomes an ( Read more... )

temptation is either called love or spelled chocolate. wrong is this addiction, this adrenalin rush. without palliatives. if some doctor, demon or alchemist knew anything of this curse, even badly, most probably he’d be chasing all life to cure me. because only a drug, with its forgetfulness jail, would save me of a harder one. and thus, once again ( Read more... )

i'm feeling sick again, some symptoms as last week
i'm going to the hospital now

don't you just hate when people do it?

http://blog.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=blog.view&friendID=27439350&blogID=59192664

next time you walk in not knowing what dvd to rent
try Easy (2004) with Marguerite Moreau

Every single time you struck with force. I could never have guessed that love was also this underground current flowing persistently, crossing the ground paved with dark colored stones without escaping, passing the lukewarm hay running to the orchards undivided. From here I look deep down at the well but I always end up in a folder with your photos ( Read more... )

Since you sail within my blood and you know my limits, since you wake me up in the oddest moments of the day to lay me down by your memory and you are the fury of my disguised patience, tell me what the devil am I doing, why I need you, who you are, silent, dissimilar, looping me, a reason for my questions, why I only want to fill you of me, and ( Read more... )

Your hand is on my face and it’s such a pure gesture, beyond beauty, your touch has the magnificence of drawing; I am dressed in excess when seeing the nakedness of your fingers tracing. I suspect I could suddenly assault your intentions shaking the fiber of sense, but that brightness on your eyes has tended me. I would want you to take the ( Read more... )