I fall asleep in your hands.
rocks are still without a sea day to think.
Forced ambiguous decisions in the textbook.
To make people happy afflicts my joy.
I spy through windows beyond the grave,
grim as a death to swallow.
With lilies in her hair and dreams on.
Billions of betting and losers.
More than cleverness of the engineers of feelings.
know how it hurts music.
Every lament is a jarring who kidnaps his throat.
Then you let go and see movement.
white hands that fall on the flanks.
Streaks of lights and bus lanes.
Steps gray asphalt and desolation.
You do not stop but the walls hold the intent.
Reversal books in mind and serve as companions.
you warm in the pockets of empty hot.
Feel your fingers on the neck and the giant lens of time.
The outrage is the daughter of adolescence.
The rebellion is a virgin raped experience.
Revolution is static does not need to die.
The betrayal is sure to rejuvenate.
Every word paralyzes the frame.
Now everything has a face and a cage.
I do not know what I write and look back
I look back ...
Only when I am back ... too far behind.
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