Illusion.
appearance.
Imvenzione of the mind, ego, deception.
Construction of a pain on more pain.
believe to feel, to be there.
Hoping not to hear, not to be there.
Waiting to be no more.
It was not true.
O say that is negative?
There are moments and emotions that are complete in itself and change everything: points of departure or death, depending. Behind
have a path, where every turn leads to the appearance of an inevitable destiny to be carried or otherwise, where everything seems to move from dark forces to get to that moment. Instead
no front, in front of him and they leave a vacuum.
to override everything is - or should be - an illusory forgotten, and then filled or might rise from the ashes like a phoenix, a new life (maybe).
Or again, you die. You can die without even knowing it and stay alive, but it's only a joke and a biological illusion, or farce, of existence.
It 'so great a distance between the current and the feel of that moment, yet this is so despite the unperturbed flow calendar, and it is an abyss so heartbreaking inability to mend the breach of what has happened and of what has been heard, which is not as if I were, as if he had been living someone else, as if it had never been true, but even imagined.
relive and retrace is an illusion attached to the skin, bone, soul.
A huge glass front of me or in me, exploding in billions of chips, but the moment of impact, you do not know why, did not produce any noise.
This forces me, a second after the other, a millennium after the other, to observe incruedulo something that happened but did not occur in that same time, the dynamics riimmaginare countless times and I'm here waiting, imprisoned in paradossso, still, the sound of the crash. That there will be.
silent cry in the brain.
Yet it's all here with me always, that it is what I see is a thousand times or what lies coiled and sleeping still kept in oblivion forgetfulness, always here, ready to swipe your fingernails on a blackboard every time he lashes touching cheeks.
But it was not true, should not do so bad.
Still, he does.
But, if you have not even imagined there would be no. Yet
is always here.
And even though I see myself reflected in the black dark, and I say that is not me, I know who I am. And the crystal comes together, a beautiful, shiny, still unaware of its purpose.
And after yet another sliver of the Whole Whole penerta voracious further back in the hearts and minds.
hurts the lost paradise, just as it hurts the brand that has been hell. Yet
is not possible that it was true.
Maybe.
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