martes, 21 de abril de 2009


The horizon starts supervision.

Whilst music travels my ears screwing through someone else's brain, little monkeys are monitoring the movements inside. Constant prayers have distorted my perception of reality. I draw until my fingernails bleed and my eyes dry out, outer space visits my waking dreams, my waking life?

Are you questioning my reality? Are YOU real?

Goddesses offer me their sublime superior oxygen, I’ll be as good as new. No thanks, I’m a masochist. Multiple agents Smith ask me to follow them, my behavior doesn’t follow the protocol. I request a quick death, never been a fan of pain…you know, being a masochist and all.

Coloring shades start disappearing in my old drawings.

Hours, days, months later…silent and invisible.

Guess where you are. Do you see any shadows?

10:10 pm


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