Sunday, 29 March 2009

stopo to point..

if it is one thing,

a large call memory or many things,

a dark road winding through me,

let up say it is a bullshiitted ..

ive been regreting everyday

regreting and singing them going to grow in one of the precious mine,

or now it is half over my head,

a partially open door..

pain dripping from the dream.

like yours it could be anything,

a hallway that leads to a thousand rooms.

wish that whatever happen to fload them away.,

when i close my eyes and look out a window for more than a few minutes,

so that some days i think,

it must be everything and nothing at once…

and my life is the breeze that blows through the whole scene stirring everything it touches…..

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