I walked the streets of Santiago in a different body, on legs aching in both hands worn to rip the soil moist forest, in a mind exorbitant, in a purple foot, in a couple of bruised knees on the asphalt cold winter melts our guts. I wanted to go, and I failed to understand poetry.
The pack together helps when you're broke, with a minimum operating balance for how is your soul mate, the other soul mate, but never know if things will last.
Night and Drunken Boat, which costs 400 pesos and that is on the rise, with the wind ranging post-earthquake, post penumbras, post coitus spiritual and loving. Ejaculates anywhere. The truth is that I want shot, I said as I drank a beer that was not mine and spat a body that belonged to me The night is sad and I want to kill, said as a couple of passengers roared with laughter. My tears came cheap and ridiculous in my interlocutor an orgy with some nuances. My first call was at 19:38 pm to express my joy: I told her he loved her and how much I enjoyed it. The bacteria I looked jaded and drank even more as the lights of the place confused with beautiful fireflies.
At 21:05 my reaction was to scoff, saying that the world was a beehive I was disgusted and wanted to burn. My companion was gone, leaving me adrift of the living organism at the mercy of the arteries that choked me and noisy place that I wanted to drop. 22:17
fall and my discomfort is paramount, look forward to the final. I cry in an alien body and my miranda dreadful looking for underground hell I was denied once. She tries to calm me with empty words, gestures of affection that I think of cardboard. I tell you not understand anything, that your fucking degree I do not care who does not understand or understood to Lihn or Rimbaud. Short. Her voice kills me.
get home and get out of that body. Wake up crying in front of the fire, vomiting a black heart, I can not breathe, my eyes clouds, the pain is indescribable. Hatred does not hurt as much as disloyalty. Never the body will bear the pain. That twinge that paralyzes and is stronger than the pastiche of colors when you disappear. I have been unable to stand, I do not find the body of my misery, I do not find my putrid meat in the wind. I keep a heart of stone throwing, dead, again and again, desperate and informer of all human misery.
0 comments:
Post a Comment