as one of the many losers, the vibrating knife in hand, the glass on the table.
half empty.
began long ago, Barbara's inner character, like many others, because we all, who chose the path of poverty, not of life, the desire to be self-defeating in that it feels like dark, with sharp blades that cut the walls , blood welling up in the body, the death that awaits.
she was the ax, the red of your life is its creator.
not hate, cry as usual, disappointed. DISAPPOINTMENT.
began long ago, by the time and fruitless attempt to disregard, if not the sin to continue to see her, even if rarely, between his second, perhaps not the most pleasant, but certainly not sufficiently appreciated how our poor fellow.
he sees him with another, there is evil, that's all.
nervousness dropper, but did not make it. chose the quick way of non-utopian existence. became an eclipse. this means goodbye rays, goodbye life, come into being, seek refuge. isolated as a natural bivouac, damp, cold cave, which drops down into the body and penetrate into the pores to become entangled in vital organs such as blood and feeling.
went to heaven in a casual, was the dust of the stars in its wake.
but fell to the ground from that altitude. head split in two, the brain came out of the membrane, broke, gave way.
saw no other way but to live to die, until he realized that the knife quivered in his hand was pale, the blade was afraid.
understood that all meant something, and that something could be anything for him.
not cured, if ever, but its the medicine you are reading and he is telling you to.
and that poor man is not who wrote this little piece of blood staining his fears into words vent.
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