quarta-feira, 26 de agosto de 2009

About sinking

Three walls that collapse while the light begins to shine outside. Permanent fake light inside.
Get the secrets buried by years in the middle of the living. The middle of the living is the middle of the dying.
Save it. Cut it and paste it. Grab a pen and a peanut and, with a drill, plant it deep in your soul. The light blurs at its eye.
I sank while I should swim. I sank.
Is that a part of living? Is that a part of dying?
People should know about their own death. People shouldn't hide about others death.
Death is the eraser, once again.

Once again, I sank.

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