Rather than smoking cigarette on cigarette, I find the path of poetry to change the spleen in multicolored butterflies and too bad if the moth dies soon, another will take its place.
Sometimes it's all a matter of patience.
A teddy bear, brown faded on the corner of the pink bed.
I finally feel much in common with this plush threadbare. If I bear, I put out a costume for this excess, giant teddy bear version, so we better see how I am, the scream, and really do not see me for that, but for they see me better, even if I dream mouse to move between the cracks of any kind.
Find a seamstress that can create me an outfit of wolf or bear, just fluffy that I'm dying of heat below, in full sun, and I remember the heat bothers me.
I go out the hand of the mitten brown and threadbare and I'll tend just to say hello, and when you go back and tighten it, you will reduce the moisture one step, with a grimace of disgust. People do not like the humidity. The good people hide behind this disgust a nice healthy smile but their thoughts are like soap bubbles that could burst at needle-pricks.
Earlier, you I do not know, you told me you hesitated, you hesitated between two options in the perception you had of me, and you're asked if I was a engineering missed or retarded teenager, and you wonder if I'm not saying certain things on purpose because finally, I am perhaps masochistic, e maybe I like the danger, or perhaps that I I love you spits.
I sew my life as a thousand skits absurd and sad, and terrible, and especially terrible, the terrible, I still want more, then that scares me, and really scared.
And someone so ridiculously proud of myself that does not admit these things. But the fear is perhaps what one seeks, in the depths of us. Perhaps by attending the fear, it tames it and maybe then we will have less fear. Do not serve target. Against terror, feet in the mud.
And I answered you with that smile of retarded teenager, my child's smile that you do not guess, you had to choose the second option, and I answered that you'd better to remember that nothing lasts forever, except ideas, because love thy neighbor, love for your companion, your companion, will wither as and when, and your friends will eventually t ' forget, and your parents love you because it's like that, and what matters is the ideas, because a good and beautiful idea lasts well over two seconds. The
moment. The rest is a memory in the memory.
Have I ever said I did not want a pretty lace and pretty pearls? Me, I want this slaughtered animal whose remains smokes. An animal slaughtered and sacrificial lamb, so that someone up there, where it is, the Father Creator or Pan gives me panic, forgive me for ever to have destroyed the dawn. The first dawn of my life.
I am preparing for the worst smile if ever I'm wrong, I am preparing for the worst.
Always rub with fear, and worse. And even if you bleed so much that we abandon all our strength.
That's how it should be. Always. It should always bleed, and be in constant pain. As the nun in purgatory.
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