often I look at this blank screen, afraid to go to bed.
I want to vent, but all I see are my fingers caressing the keys in vain inert. Nn or even more willing to describe this apathy.
will be the approach of "I want" instead of "I love you."
will be that little bit of inertia is not proactive, that kills every fantasy.
There's a nasty world out there, calling me.
And I clean the world from my listening, but I do not go up there.
ticking the raindrops on the roof, mark the time lost that you can not recover more.
The feelings that accompany the desideio go numb, because nobody encourages more.
better to burn out faster in well rather than to fade away.
"This no."
"Not so."
Tired of asking.
Tired of not letting go.
Tired of not doing so dirty.
E 'indifference that kills desire.
The knowledge that you do not play anymore.
For now.
The desire to change players.
The desire to play dirty.
Without rules.
So as it comes. Who is.
Hope to see hands painted red to cover my slowing ticking along on your keyboard to turn them away from this monitor yet. For me to be abducted by a flurry of excitement.
Where the raindrops is the pace, not the passage of time.
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