Poetry. I do not care, it's like try to tell something I'm not. One day, I was told that the writer brings the lines on the skin, I think it's better to have the blood of ink. You can not take anything on the skin for wrinkles, corrode. What
feel rain?
As drop in your body until you scatter in full, drain from your forehead.
I wanted to get rid of you, disarm between your fingers, between my legs, between your tongue. Eat your breath, take a shower in my dreams. you. You to be a suicide. A mouth. Damn
rain that fills the eyes of memories, attack points, you suffer, I fear. Love
what word shorter. More than a game you and I not to play, not vivirnos while breathing its essence that we have. What word selfish. Suffered. Dramatic. Like me. As though you deny it and hide in the skirts of the day.
How quickly I just love the desire to stay in you forever. Always. An infinite word. Then it will be infinitely .
Last night I slept alone. Not today. Because I could not sleep without dreams. They know now. I know I do not care. They know that gossip , scream it, we condemn what? WHAT? Nothing. That love grows stronger and smiles ...
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