sKLim

I have a Devil under my bed.

Every time, as the sleep gets here, we play ignorance. Every time he has something for me. I never manage to learn what it is.

While I’m asleep he keeps on notching deep tokens on my retina, doesn’t allow me to talk to myself or settle down amidst my stars.

There are moments when I miss him therefore He is bored with me. I want to make Him notice me so I start vacuuming or I lay down in one of the corners of my room and I attack him with balls made of bread that I baked in my own great bread maker.

He’s body language suggests tiredness, comfort, flunkeyism, meekness desire, human filth and the rest of the best in me. Every morning I have to go and do the work at nation’s request. Same hours, same routine, then I try exchanging body fluids with the same women. Everything I do is for my Devil under the bed.

I want to hold hands with my devil and run to the French Riviera, on the most beautiful beaches, to drink lots of rosé, to tuck in some matching His eyes Roquefort cheese, staring in each others mouths, singing the most wonderful songs about the afterlife only the two of us know.

I have a problem though. I cannot take Him out. He’s too dark for people’s eyes.

It is night again. I am going home anxious to see Him. I hope He is in the mood to acknowledge me. As soon as I step in my house I feel a scent that has never been there before. The scent becomes acid on walls as I draw closer to the bedroom.

I open the door and my Devil is working on the darkness under my bed. He is incredibly cute. I tip toe next to Him because I want to see His hands at work. I envy His serenity while working. I knee next to the bed. He senses that and turns towards me. I pull back on my knees to make Him crawl out. As He gets closer to me the entire floor is swallowed by darkness, the scent carries me beyond my senses, He widely opens his mouth and His violet split tongue falls down. Suddenly I start singing Him the most delicate lullaby while beginning to chew on His tongue until I suck Him all in like a noodle.

Worry less I can step down the stairs of darkness built by my own Devil.

F u C k N e S s

I missed my wind… just because I overslept. Dreaming is not the solution.
The direction is fake.
How can I be straight when I’m a floor?
The straightness is falling.
When I am there I can mutely scream my lungs out for their screaming to happiness. What a FuCkNeSs.
Because I am able to assassinate. I want more. Not more, but bodies. More … more of me in me.
There is a limit set up just for me.

I can and can’t allow this title.

ssssssssssss

this thing is like the best glue. the great music...
where is it come from? what is the real purpose? how is possible to cry like a hurt baby?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BJCTrolF3CY&feature=related