Beautiful things for me, I know not to say.
Scratch my crusts that, okay, I can do. But beautiful things
not want to leave.
I tried, for real.
But it's still there.
No need to exorcise all that good.
And beyond that, I find too immodest to spread happiness.
is too direct, too personal.
I have no problem in general to tell the raw, to take the words as fists. As
punches, but not like hugs.
So it's not that I write more or I say more nothing.
I just do not know how.
I have made attempts. Who
not give much.
"Something has changed and I have nothing calculated.
It started ... It started with one drowning.
Clinging to a bar before holding on to his hand to cling to his neck clinging to his arm to cling to the railing to hold on to the door hang on to the handle (because I knew what to do) to cling to his lips (because m ' showed what to do) and thus cling to cling to the bed sheets to hang his curtains hang on the phone cling to my desire to cling to his words to hang on to his skin again and again his hand to cling to our fears to cling to hopes of clinging to the sky hold on to a scent to cling to him in my life, I am now hooked to a t-shirt that is not mine and I do not know much except that it makes a whole bunch of hooks which I cling to it no answers. "
Laboratory, so ...
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