

where are youall while the walls are wailing the outside screams. my ears can't take it anymore I slam the keyboard to suffocate the noisy insomniawhere are you
if only she had been there haunting me once again that ghost. I think she might be gone.


The valseWe were a pair of dancing feet With flawless synchronization We made all our feelings concrete A constant, lubricious motionThe valse
Your ankles silked with elegance My feet wrapped with fancy leather Dancing to a jazzy romance With our legs light like a feather
But the song stopped a bit too soon The drums, strings and vocals got away I was alone and out of tune
I still think about you today Lonely, but oh so happy I traded valse for poetry


Marching for anotherThey were marching together, united to form one big mess of flesh and fear. Their equipment started to get heavy, but they were well trained and could bear the weight. The sun was aggressively burning. ?Only the warm sand could bask peacefully in the desert.Marching for another
Some of them were young, almost kids. Some of them had families back in the homeland, waiting for them, hopefully alive.
Adam Ross was one of them. He left his wife and daughter to fight for an almost divine cause : freedom. Well this is what he was told. "The oppressor is evil" he tought. His bullets were fired with good intentions but controlled by greed.  


a crazy world-Grab my hand tight, he said. Hold it, you must not lose me. I know my way out there.a crazy world
He lied, this world was practically unknown to him. He took a brief glance at the attractive features that he was still in love with. Deeply and honestly. But he had to look forward, no weaknesses would be acceptable once they were out there.
-Why is it so dangerous? she candidly asked.
-It is different, and difference is a bad thing out there.
-Why is it a bad thing?
-People are scared of it, they might love it. But it doesn't matter, we got each other.
Reality is they both were t
Albert

the conversationalistslit-eye winter sun- rise buried to the hilt in common sense.the conversationalist
as if you
‘d answered my every fucking question speaking french-
quelle surprise indeed.
it’s October again, my darling for pity, oh. for pity’s sake, this talking in morse or semaphore is getting
older by the day.
these icy fingers are not persuaded by my plea of self defence, the jury’s out, the cock has crowed,
the books are falling from the shelves
like dodgy tape recordings of conversations overheard in dreams, &nbs
--
I tell you such fine music awaits in the shadows of the fires of hell. -Charles Bukowski
Now you can buy my book here!--------->>> [link]
--
don't mix the colors
what is your fuck saying though?
--
Now I think it's alright to feel inhuman
cause I'm.. really short.
I did a pretty shitty job of resizing it.
--
don't mix the colors
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