Sunday, September 12, 2010


It s 17:17

i light up the gas

to make some tea..

I m already a wrecked one..

notes..sound..don t really remember..

it must be a major complexion..

i step up

think for a while..

i wear my pink shoes

run at the bridge..

and you are there,

pushing hard your pencil on the paper..

a little bit berore you tear it..

you looked at me..

you told me you prefer the high way

on your old bike

with your wet black eyes crying friendly to the wind..

there s a little girl running close to shore

and you are climbing iron stars to save her..

such a fool..

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