The more I try to write fiction, the more the stream of consciousness sounds like a hen in a cage. I try to write poems, it sounds embarassing when you're not a teen anymore.
Watched a still life through a hole,. Dark still. Red eyes staring wooden frames. Baroque or plain. Groveling through the aisles. Of a miserable supermarket. in the suburbs.
Burakku is the word an old japanese passenger used to describe his lost bag. Since then, I always loved it and I think I wanna be Burakku Bambi for at least two or three months..
Agony, sadness, this love I call it love, it is fog on grey roads All the trees with no leaves What I thought love was a bluish nightmare..
Cool, I'm the 666th on Opuss classification!.
Mangy dog of this puffed town King of dirt, rueful snarl Depth of night will hold you tight Grow your bones In fairy forests Frighten the mothers Eat sweet little kids' soft red cheeks Show your...
I was closing my eyes while remembering your words just to keep em stuck behind eyelids, all the crap you said, zombie kisses eaten my brain..
In the swimming pool, while inhaling chlorine, my biggest fear was being a number two through the eyes of the folk.
This shell is full of words Every tear drop they know Painted on nacreous walls.
Typewriters and cigarettes left, left the window on the desk, left the theatre of magic on a wall of dirt for a...
Rancor boiling like mango juice forgotten on desert Choler, my dear, increase. Teeth, teeth, teeth. Not again, swamp of golden nectar, brittle delusion, those teeth.
Why you Vulture Dont break this thread of Breaths Gestures Eternal circle of lowest being. Eat these stains of death Clean who is gasping from decades..
Eyes split on watery grid Ice lip in tremble and fear I sleep in a tempest of grey Grey, grey daylight, skin, eyelids Grey covers of mold on Weak, Far, Blurred Dreams..
I'm sure I already met my soulmate, I really think it could be love, but, really, isn't it possible to have a soulERmate. Thanks a lot, not only a good tip, garçonne, you'll have even some of my pot..
Cold wind of august nights Whistles through the wall Oh no, there is no wall. Limitless space to anguish green souls Teeth, words, they are not sought..
Oh grandma, teach me how to curse How to hurt whoever hurts How to go away from who doesnt love and care Who thinks i'm just a little girl Who thinks i'm big enough to keep his dick in my hands Like...
How beautiful it was when we didnt care of the low ceilings. They were clouds over our heads. Floating cheese for uninterested mouses. Now even walls screech on our skins.
Closed the doors of this long dusty aisle. Two slammed by the wind. Three gently shut. One followed by the eyes of shame and sorrow. Hiding slowly beyond that antique door. Dignified.
Raining on this present Cleaning windows showing the last winter. Mallards gliding into New Jersey lakes while my thoughts were delayed in a stream of anger, hatred, Melancholy and void.
I'm not jealous, I'm PARANOID..
In this cage of millenary rules, orders and wisdom, Breathing was writing songs during the long winter nights, playing with words.
I would like to do some permanent make up just to be sexy in the grave..
Sleep soundly dear I have to go..
Let's go home, let's watch the snow lying on the floor, like silent cadavers of a meaningless war.
Snow over these grey bones, Dressed in violet and green, veins like rivers, ready for the night. Like white toys in the orchard of my sorrows, close, but never reaching, my serenity's slivers..
Night is coming through red and violet veils. In cement deserts everyone's praying, wrapped in suit ad tie, Crying to the sun, please don't go.
Lots of interesting minerals forced to be used only for the comfort of our armpits (and noses, consequently)..
All my childish aspiration Stuck in a soiled bright screen Untidy my thoughts Through a straight monochromatic path.
I will never smile on your skin again. Only disguised tears filling our vacuum love songs. How miserable we are. begging for a delusive glance. Lost in iron woods, with your absence next to me,.