Friday, 5 June 2009

Distorted I

I will always be fond of blue light.

What shall I do now, that birds aren’t flying anymore? Wasted too much time, and yet there was no time to be wasted somehow. I have no fucking face. Look so thin, skinny. Hate it, myself.

My face is converging to the floor. Big shit. Look like shit. My body is weak and my body is sick. Don’t want to get out, don’t want to stay at home.

 All an illusion of being real.

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