"Now that the hangovers hurt and cut like a knife ... now no one greets us at the bars of Malasaña, that I cry, kisses and food by phone, flowers
I smoke, I cry sometimes when I sleep ... "
die or live, I doubt that the difference between these two things there ...
live always in the clouds, tiny flying meaningless worlds, worlds apparent, unreal, fantasy world, dark worlds ... Looking
out my window, drawing the silhouettes of people who have never been here ...
lay my head on the shoulder of my old pillow, wetting my face with worn memories, listening to songs about loneliness and sadness, the same sadness I feel I now plan to ...
Birds near my silhouette asleep at the threshold of that door that leads to death ... will land on me as if my body was inert statue, without any kind of life ... A slight yawn
me remember that I'm alive, I'm still breathing, I thought for a moment to do so, I thought it was over, but I was wrong, I'm still here ... Breathing in a dense
Smoke rises from a cigarette I think of you a moment, suddenly so vivid that image of you becomes
gray ... seems that my life will never be balanced, unquenchable sadness from my eyes screaming for help, asking for a absolution for this heart that beats stiff slowly dying inside my body ...
crystal molecules with a bittersweet now travel my face, gliding very slowly until it flows into my mouth and there perished one after another ...
Bad days those for memories, for happiness, bad days for everything ... I can not weave one another the words expended that travel and sleepy through my mind wander dazed and entranced ...
"I want to fly away from here away ... tell me, my love, who I will cry if you give me wings and flew away ... I sleep, I wake ... I want to be the rain other side of the pane, Perhaps someone wait for me in the dark ... "
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