This is an old writing doc.
I could never leave this one behind.
It still represents me and I am sharing it here. My first post.
Portrait on a dead landscape. Dry and bitter. Nice shape on the surrounding trees. No wind, just me on a swing made out of wood. Yellow and broken wood.
Beautiful sensations, magical intentions, treasuring old memories. Wishing and maybe hoping, killing and falling for the livin.
Fairwell to me, I´m letting myself go with the flew.
Sequences…. of a colored soul, shining on buried snow. My moments are paralyzed. Now.
The childish swing knocks at my door one more time. My feet touching the sky, and under my arms it smells like daisies in autumn. I cannot sing, I´m chewing sand again. Happens once in a while.
Back to the moments…and my skin gets cold, turns to red. I don´t see it, cuz I´m blind on my conscience. Burns.
My heart is a poisoned apple. Attracted to a line of luxury ants. They climb on me. Hundreds of them. Then, thousands. I smile, they are tickling me. Hahahahahahaahaha. I can´t stop laughing. I can´t stop waiting, so I laugh.
Time is a wasting matter. Thinking of it makes it worth. And its not worth it. But I keep doing it. I keep thinking, and waiting, and wishing and maybe hoping….. that behind those sharping trees my moments would be green and warm.
At the end, we are destroyed, or we destroy. We never think of that for sure. But the taste is the sweetest, and there will never be and end to it.