ComeBackOnlyLoneliness part two
ComeBackOnlyLoneliness
Every time I come back there is always and only loneliness, apathy gestures. cold calls, stalactites of daily stresses and future commitments. And each time point. Every time I hope that in addition to the list of daily events there is also something more, something small and on fire, something that beats, a little hedgehog that opens with a caress, a small meteorite full of universes cosmic significantly.
Whenever this drive from the stomach and bowels, abdomen and slowly up the gorge, between the vocal cords and the palate.
Not even a start, only a continuous push for something supersensible in all directions. as if a hand came through a cut in the stomach at the top, first as a fist then open to all five fingers deforming the wall .. And so in my throat, a hand squeezes the vocal cords, unites seemingly turning into a big and long X-chromosome, and thus also on the palate, behind the uvula a hand trying to get out of the neck. And the salt in his eyes, they burn and cry, cry and burn what it lacks soul .. love. And the distance is a lottery, and commitments are a perennial bad luck continued, "not knowing" and "postpone". Everything is hypothetical, everything is nothing until it actually is. Everything is hard, dry, expired, apathetic, cold, damp.
In the end you can smell, but this is not an end. This is the smell of loneliness, stress and desire of love, desire and will to the role of attention important for someone else, perhaps it is rather important among all the other distractions. You are evil, but not everyone is able to show what its like, not everyone is willing to say anything, likely to explain the mood and needs.
Will this body to take my soul in a cage, a prison of emotions of elevation, the censorship of freedom, failed to return to the state of nature. for free can be so bad that the first dedicated to the philosophy, truth and knowledge, but then we must die to get rid of their cell body. die. But who says that the extreme suffering of the soul can not remove the 'importance which normally takes the body? Up to void, to make a single first floor: the chaos, the cyclone.
That tornado that sweeps away everything except the hand that pushes, knotting and deforms. Who says you can not die inside? Still temporarily. Who says you can not make an effort? Who says I do not make the biggest mistake you? Who says that this distance must necessarily divide? Who says I can live without you I can not.
And without you does it mean without your attention,
your sweetness, your consideration for me between the commitments of life. Perhaps there too.
not only work commitments, sports, legislative and passions. Maybe .. 
There Too. And I say this with the strings Voice and chromosomal with the hand that is now double in the stomach and the palate, eyes burning and crying, his head and heart that wants to go out that does not want to think more [and vice versa]. I no longer want to feel bad, not with you, not for you, not for us. Byebye my darling
this night is going to go on
and whitout you, whitout your thought ps: do not read as you want, no I did not left with my boyfriend and I will not be with him, and moments that are just steps I feel tonight Contra
comebackonlyloneliness
Again away and find myself to embrace the void .. The empty .. I wonder .. What does it taste? !
Acerbo funeral and post-nuclear herbicide mnemonic napalm on the fire hydrant and living underground for the dying tappoaschiopposudecelebraticonventidisantisaccenti. flow. The words and concepts. and spontaneously decompose the chemical reactions involved in the work. Dissentirecreasfiduciaordineesicurezzadallapartedelcittadino. ScroccracK. cracKcracK. Pupils small, tiny, ringing in the ears, confusion, disconnection. Vena Ardecore annoying punk. 
spiezzo There are two dragon like the monster of the lake to build a lego and do so in the fire fuego . I want you to fear, to tremble a bit
'your false certainties. I want you to look in my eyes and know that I will analyze,
you read my mind and I read your body. I want you to know that you make me sick,
things you own now you have . I would spit in my face, to destroy
words and then see you fall,
return home to be with the same sand you dammed in the form of clay your damn mind encrusted with tartar and dementia. I hurt you, destroy
where you look in the mirror to show you how many pieces I could play infinite puzzles and of course no solution that I could think of nothing ricomporvi after having been made. I softly tell you that I am the terrorist, I am an immigrant, I am a political criminal, I, the subversive, the witch I, I magician, I rebel, I was the suicide bomber, I was the Satanist, I am the thief, the swindler I, am the Afghan el 'Iranian nuclear'm the boss, I was the genius of poisons, I am the anarchist, I Charon. In no man's land Avaz avoidance and dead bodies are querra with someone but I do not know who actually
and was the great storm in the evening after dark and the rain is fine. You skittles mangiatraffico paranoid, obsessive manias are dummies dipped in wax and painted on canvas megaphones without casting volume. You
models of spectra from London design with a giant clock instead of the pupils, and why
are no tar and salt in boiling water that makes your taste even more a la mode.
You are what you eat, you are on the table, the limbs are torn and stinking corpses of your previous, and all those who kill as cannibals in which you are torn to pieces, all your ephemeral identities aged every twenty four hours a day and changed into mounds Holocaust back to life by showing that in the eyes of those who see such horror-monster manjimbu you are.
And all this is my disgust and much more is hidden.
The girl turns into monster polite and respectful of anger and wrinkles.
are the mad puppeteer who holds your strings.
ps: Let alerts:
-no I have not left all is well with the boy-no
the text does not concern him and me or our history or our relationship or non-nneso
are not angry with you
-no I'm not dressing the role of a psychopath, I am
-no there is no precise reason for this, I just know that is what I feel and think for a while 'time
is the vein that I molesta
are madly in love with you-are-no cryptic
I do not expect a complete understanding of the text-
the question "What does it taste like?" there is a total departure from post-holiday return home from my boy-
Aliceandmyworld you've just got it, and maybe you're the only one can hear it in every way that I have written
-not for this you can not understand very well what you can try CONTRA
good weekend
There Too. 
