I have never read so much.
I sat on the landing of this door. And here, too, a dog fell asleep with his head stuck between my legs.
are reading this. And here, again, collect your letters. All the letters I wanted to give me. Puts them in a bag. I was a kind of extraction. It pulled out sentences that I thought. I laughed and cried. I laughed and I was sweating and dry in the sun.
I met a point. And here, again, the ellipsis bound our ideas. We hugged as a spiral that had fastened around his neck. By breaking the breath and leaving me hanging to weigh the difference between kissing and being kissed, hit and be hit, watch and be watched, believe and be believed.
I'm not afraid. And here, once, I was afraid of ruining everything. That was not all perfect. That things happen for a reason. I was convinced that every move made sense. And there was nothing that was not written by an evil genius. Everything had a meaning and must follow its own path. Indeed. The path. The road would meet the facts. And we were so close to not seeing each other. And our skin is pulled and tore. And our songs are mixed. And no one would go to pick up a dick. And no wind was blowing. And nobody would have watched. And nothing would have touched. And perhaps as fragments of a glass-eater glass of a circus geek would let him talk his heart cut out. It would leave the bleed and drip one of our reflections.
No rain. And here, once I took other routes. Other locations. Here. In front of this hall. But this world sucks. It counts for you too. And too little for me. You could hear the chains on him and I spent the time to shake the rain off.
And once. At least once. Another volta.
)A(
I sat on the landing of this door. And here, too, a dog fell asleep with his head stuck between my legs.
are reading this. And here, again, collect your letters. All the letters I wanted to give me. Puts them in a bag. I was a kind of extraction. It pulled out sentences that I thought. I laughed and cried. I laughed and I was sweating and dry in the sun.
I met a point. And here, again, the ellipsis bound our ideas. We hugged as a spiral that had fastened around his neck. By breaking the breath and leaving me hanging to weigh the difference between kissing and being kissed, hit and be hit, watch and be watched, believe and be believed.
I'm not afraid. And here, once, I was afraid of ruining everything. That was not all perfect. That things happen for a reason. I was convinced that every move made sense. And there was nothing that was not written by an evil genius. Everything had a meaning and must follow its own path. Indeed. The path. The road would meet the facts. And we were so close to not seeing each other. And our skin is pulled and tore. And our songs are mixed. And no one would go to pick up a dick. And no wind was blowing. And nobody would have watched. And nothing would have touched. And perhaps as fragments of a glass-eater glass of a circus geek would let him talk his heart cut out. It would leave the bleed and drip one of our reflections.
No rain. And here, once I took other routes. Other locations. Here. In front of this hall. But this world sucks. It counts for you too. And too little for me. You could hear the chains on him and I spent the time to shake the rain off.
And once. At least once. Another volta.
)A(
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