I fell asleep and woke up yesterday morning for months afterwards. I woke up this morning, and I do not know, I forgot. I'm gutted solidified covered limestone, and I have nothing more to say. Even the strength to hear the swans singing, just nothingness. "Beyond is the void," he said, "in silence or in noise." I do not mean much, I draw on white ghosts. All Scripture is a lie, especially the night writing, "the night I lie," I must infiltrate in addition to simply open a gap, force yourself to break the ultimate barrier. Echoes back to me sometimes outdated, already dead. It is not enough to blacken the void.
" Nothing happens, nobody comes does, nobody does goes, is terrible."
No retreat nor surrender: I am no one, if not boredom, which meddles too much, too fast. Living to tell before, dosing, to "raise the arsenic," waiting to die from the cocoon to caterpillar does not die.
"sunblock on our remorse"
Another time, another day.
" Nothing happens, nobody comes does, nobody does goes, is terrible."
No retreat nor surrender: I am no one, if not boredom, which meddles too much, too fast. Living to tell before, dosing, to "raise the arsenic," waiting to die from the cocoon to caterpillar does not die.
"sunblock on our remorse"
Another time, another day.
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