terça-feira, 7 de julho de 2009


Is that all right that I live in my daydream?

Since I whisper softly to those black stars in my sky all the feelings that swim with me, they whisper back to me 'it's gonna be better'.

Am I supposed to know how I feel?

Write me a letter where you explain all the reasons, all the things you haven't said to me because there's nothing left to see inside of me.

Do I need to remember each small thing?

Walking in between heartbeats, my time is measured by the dead drum inside of me, the flowers that touch my feet are warmer than the lithium that runs within me.

Is detailing expected of me?

I did draw enough love sick things to explain my way of thinking, but my broken eyes only see what they want to see.

Like the White Queen, I can believe six impossible things before breakfast.

Like the Red Queen, I run all the speed I can do, to keep me in the same place.

I'll have to run, at least, twice as fast to be able to reach the eight square too.

'Because I can't do it'

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