And tomorrow has already arrived.
disappointment with the sun rising, not cozy alcove
m'accoglie still dormant, and the wind on the leaves
is an eternal effort
never satisfied:
the disgust of a fictitious bulimia,
of a poem which seems written in hospice.
Breath
enemy on my face that amazed
do not realize that the account was made.
The gravitational weight of despair
gravity on me, surrounded by strangers
languages \u200b\u200bthan ever to remain silent
but remain mute, and
seems so absurd, and health.
The desire to be lost every light
brings me to the choice of not choosing
as hath been torn up all hope, while
crumble in moments
me still standing and now too far away.
And maybe it's hard, maybe the cure is
this fear of your figure, and this heat
I soil, in every part of me.
But it is not so lowly
I do not want to dry these tears, I'm afraid to show
in the silence of your words, when the end has run
shown again,
the sun ...
C.
disappointment with the sun rising, not cozy alcove
m'accoglie still dormant, and the wind on the leaves
is an eternal effort
never satisfied:
the disgust of a fictitious bulimia,
of a poem which seems written in hospice.
Breath
enemy on my face that amazed
do not realize that the account was made.
The gravitational weight of despair
gravity on me, surrounded by strangers
languages \u200b\u200bthan ever to remain silent
but remain mute, and
seems so absurd, and health.
The desire to be lost every light
brings me to the choice of not choosing
as hath been torn up all hope, while
crumble in moments
me still standing and now too far away.
And maybe it's hard, maybe the cure is
this fear of your figure, and this heat
I soil, in every part of me.
But it is not so lowly
I do not want to dry these tears, I'm afraid to show
in the silence of your words, when the end has run
shown again,
the sun ...
C.
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