sleep, rely on me. around the corner from my kind, walking ten parts of the city after writing. my life and my brain possess the worry where a certain kind of pressure is delayed, my stomach stirring the glances of self-depreciation. i am six years old for the second time. the danger of crying, a prophecy of oneself fullfilling. we die for a while because of that.

it is easy to understand everything, and looking at walking go into the view. in winter everything hibernates, is drunk. an explanation is conceived. we would like to go to outside, under my bed and hiding. a winter party of insanity. i have wanted to touch open spaces. it is beginning: the end, the acceptance which does not shake. fact is divided from opinion; you obtain my opinion more in the color that was bombed in me. it tightens my mouth; strangely, gently, concerning that which you do not understand. it is not able to wait for the cover of burning meat.

i spend the majority of days with scowling work. it is this world-wide now; it will spread out and it will spread out in its surroundings. in order to die at this moment, my heart is racing. it is good and it is bad. we talk to the circumferences. we are wrong; we grow flesh. we will hang three transformations; smoke will be born like silence, a seasonal datum. the world which is ending in me is legitimate and it goes mad. human waste, comfort will be visible in me. a matter of great importance. i write the maximum quantity of days.

inside your face there is a chance which spreads out; it is arranged and a shout is sufficient and defended. the examination which hits against you is immediacy and it is thinking. it stays.