I LOVE u.my self
.my family
.my friends
.photography
.music
.design
.fashion
.i'm lomo whole
.food so much
.my life
.my world
.everything around me
.the sunset
.my machine phone
.poem
nothings left the good behind me enough,
just an ordinary people
trying to be the best in my self
n find the true love
just the girl always happy in every single day...
n i'm not a pathetic human couse i have all i need in this world.
i had proud of my life
i don't regret nothing in my life
i found what i searched.
i like what i used to be
murder = white out.
cancer = birth blouse.
mirror = perfect glass spouse.
oil = sex paint.
shower = water saint.
Death decodes the howls from our hands.
skull = noise nest.
TV = fuck test.
mirror = siamese gun kiss.
sugar = birth bait.
murder = loves fate.
death distills the camouflage from our dance.
death inverts the red from romance.
Death x-rays the angels of chance.
death; the anti mirror of infants.
Like a picture hiding beneath the digital Avalanche.
When cecilia's grave cracked like a dirt cacoon,
she pulled up a stool at the silhouette saloon.
The player piano mumbling crippled jigs,
black widows knitting victimless wigs.
When cecilia's throat slit like a second set of lips
she drooled braille bibles onto the brothel bed spread,
like an egg whose yoke defies child bearing hips.
Like a ghost who fears all of the deceased and dead.
(time eats the flesh and spits out the shadow like a useless wishbone.)
But that locket spinning around her neck,
whose hearth heats a dead valentine,
you know the phantom trail leads way to a muted grave.
Where is his voice now?
A dead tone in the flutter of drunken wings,
Where is his blushed cheek now,
A face unraveled in shadow, veiled in blind laughter.
Where are those sex ripened lips,
his kiss print still warm on several necks.
Where is love now?
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