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2008-02-12 | |
In the morning i open my eyes and i count
silently dusting wrinkles
off the clock .
The perfect hour
when the sleep its
At noon i open the information
to see in
what the level
they put me:
I am ? or they delete me?
I sprawl and open my big mouth,
my soul its out,
and tow tears flow down with rage
down my cheek...
on the floor dreams ...very preciouses dreams
My wrath still scream" maniac",
My hands still tremble on one blue wedge,
who was from one celebrity writer.
Somebody said if i write with whim
i will have celebrity to...
Afternoon i look back to clean my tray
let down like one snake
on all the torn papers,
on the all ideas
throw on the author pages ...
If i was born in Paris i was one lady,
but i am born in one different world,
where the people told me
"no one"... better to forget who i am sometimes
and to tear my character of me...
To run no identity on the bank of deep water
maybe it will swallow me
with all my ideas ,
with all my words spoken or not
"I will be free! "
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