I remember them saying, that the world was confined to a pulse of emotions and icons made in an instance of particular insentient.
A boundless reading of the world, restricted by the cut of a self-made stiletto, the frontier were people laugh, were people cry.
Round and round, encircling the momentary view, arms wide open…no stupid feelings and fears.
I disconnect… I don’t care about lovers and killers, riddles and inconveniences. Like a raging wave, like a tremendous combustion, I don’t want to save words no more.
A page written feverishly, a scream raised by a kiss entail…I’m not living without charge.
A boundless reading of the world, restricted by the cut of a self-made stiletto, the frontier were people laugh, were people cry.
Round and round, encircling the momentary view, arms wide open…no stupid feelings and fears.
I disconnect… I don’t care about lovers and killers, riddles and inconveniences. Like a raging wave, like a tremendous combustion, I don’t want to save words no more.
A page written feverishly, a scream raised by a kiss entail…I’m not living without charge.
IMAGE FROM: http://www.fotolog.net/ccarriconde/
