Sometimes there are dismembered bodies all over the floor and you choose to stay there, quiet and thoughtless. Then there are so many thoughts you choose to jump out and try to forget but they are there to thought it's only a matter of time and patience.
Those filthy bodies keep they journey of death and still they very own decomposition time, just like anything else. Then you feel dismembered by the time, by the rain, by the sun, by the death herself.
So many places to be and you're there, quiet. Don't want to move. Don't want to change.
No wishes or whispers, no life or colors, just dismembered bodies all over the floor waiting for the worms, waiting for death.
Then, there are the bones, cause the flesh is already gone. Those last pieces of dismembered bodies, and you claim to be the owner cause you've been there quietly monitoring they're decomposition. You've been there each second of their dismemberment.
Images of horror and pain that you're soul already had diner with, each day you set there quietly, just waiting.
Now this is the new life you choose, yet to come. Those rush hours are gone. Your heart is stone, your thoughts speechless. Those shining eyes fade to gray and no longer can stand the light.
It's the meaning of being the one behind dismembered bodies. It tastes good after so long. You get used to it, as a normal life. You've been there for so long you don't even care. You don't have feelings for those dismembered bodies. Erased memories of unmatchable souls.
There are these days too, and you learn to live with them, surrounded by dead fuck'n bodies.
Those filthy bodies keep they journey of death and still they very own decomposition time, just like anything else. Then you feel dismembered by the time, by the rain, by the sun, by the death herself.
So many places to be and you're there, quiet. Don't want to move. Don't want to change.
No wishes or whispers, no life or colors, just dismembered bodies all over the floor waiting for the worms, waiting for death.
Then, there are the bones, cause the flesh is already gone. Those last pieces of dismembered bodies, and you claim to be the owner cause you've been there quietly monitoring they're decomposition. You've been there each second of their dismemberment.
Images of horror and pain that you're soul already had diner with, each day you set there quietly, just waiting.
Now this is the new life you choose, yet to come. Those rush hours are gone. Your heart is stone, your thoughts speechless. Those shining eyes fade to gray and no longer can stand the light.
It's the meaning of being the one behind dismembered bodies. It tastes good after so long. You get used to it, as a normal life. You've been there for so long you don't even care. You don't have feelings for those dismembered bodies. Erased memories of unmatchable souls.
There are these days too, and you learn to live with them, surrounded by dead fuck'n bodies.
literaturas menos simpáticas e estados de loucura combinam-se,
desejam.se.
xD
desejam.se.
xD
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