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Come in, talk?

You stopped visiting me even under a dropper of tearful dreams,

And heat injections go to hands,

But not mine.

Among hundreds of worlds there is no peace left in which there is at least something else left other than the depth of patterns on the body.

Have we once dreamed of this?

Have we ever wanted this?

And the deepest wounds still remain invisible.

A person ever former beloved .. Yes, and so everything is clear for a long time.

Lymph nodes are pulled out of the plots of blind cinema when only a cracked ceiling heeded prayers to be prayed.

It’s not me again that I let the trigger under your window and disappear through the thickness of a shapeless haze,

So far, somewhere a cat's family is quietly asleep.

Come in, talk?

You are an immortal faith, which I am desperately confessing to the knees broken about tiles,

but in return I get only a clip of rotten pity,

Torn a patch from memory,

Maybe remember once.

I don’t remember when you lost your faith and I turned into your personal crucified cross.

But you know

I will always ruin sand castles

Your princesses.

Come in talking?

Although do people still need words,

When there is a degree palette, from which you do not remember what you need to regret, and the body regrets that the head hurts so much.

The geocardials are twisted, what was beating inside, no longer screams and does not whisper.

Tears fell on cold shoulders,

And the fact that it does not kill you, it just cripples deadly.

Cargo transportation delivered sadness and despair on the schedule,

Please teach me how to survive where happiness is directly proportional to suffering,

where natural selection suppresses the desire for survival

And the main thing becomes material.

Not a penny behind the soul

And they are in a hurry, slowly,

Our destinies are performed

There is one step to the line

I just forgot how to breathe.

I find my soul who fell asleep in a fire, which is divorced by my hands,

I laugh frantically and throw the covers of Haruki with Murakami, while the poet sees dreams,

And it is so funny that just knock your hands on the cold bricks, because we seem to have changed roles.

Come in talking?

No.

leave,

Steam.