| Refrigerator snowy ideals
| Lg.ll.zool
zubodrobilnaya machine grinds the depression like a reed
cristae. He struggles to breathe, but can not, knowing all
unnecessary movement. opening his eyes he sees the mud. He
touches her fingers, gently leads the index finger that's on
the little stringy bunch, then with interest brings his finger
to his nose, then tries to eat, fresh tasting frenzy. words get
stuck in his throat, thinking stupidly stopper in the thickened
gray matter, saliva flowing over his face, starting his way to
his lips and ending on big toes, the way brown washing blood
from his chin. He caught up the swamp of depression, what he
did all his adult life, all that he considered the meaning of
life, one moment became so low and disgusting, all his previous
attempts to create something seems now bestalantnymi, small and
ugly creatures with stained faces of children with Down's
syndrome. constantly before the eyes of love looms, he plunges
into it, he longs for This soft eyes and delicate touch. He
wrote a string without a drop of optimism.
terrible breath, breath, languor,
faithful love is killing them at home.
manic severity and senselessness of being razmazzhivaet on the
pavement his skull into thousands of drops of gray, Crystal can
not do anything and say he can not even love. he loves, he is
ready to pull out his heart, like a dumb sour yogurt, and give
it to one favorite, whose image is only a twinkle in his rotten
life. he constantly runs into meaninglessness at suchyu
depression, covering it every time you part with it. he wants
to cry, he longs to see in a mirror reflection with glass drops
on his cheeks, reflecting more than anything else it feelings.
he does not want, he jokes in the company, it exists home
separately from all living beings. His mind can not grasp
everything happening around the genius of his kills! story
scratch - and he gets hit in the liver, sweet Ivan Ivanov - and
he holds his hands over the eggs, a volume of Sartre - and
Crystal is lies in the gray hospital room with dilapidated
walls. he sees their love and ... and lives. Only she, she, it
- its meaning. it brilliant, she has courage, she kills him. it
- alive.
wiping snot rancid handkerchief funny music he has forgotten to
time. opens the fridge every day ideas, gets a couple and
slow roast them in the fire of the brain to the point, until
they do not starve as a bitch. in the freezer, in the farthest
corner, lie Frozen ideals, covered with a thick layer iniya,
ideals, solid as a rock.
comes uncle Jean-Paul and blows cold, it as if an atomic bomb
destroys not only the ideals, along with a refrigerator, and
kitchen and house, and all life cristae. Well, why, why, what
caused him to touch the eternal values of human? Live
Jean-Paul kills cristae, leaves his life on the island,
thousands of sounds itch in the ears of the patient, he leafs
through the virtual memory page geniuses and quiet% noisily
mad. taking out a new sound from his pocket genius he notices
signature 'Sartre' and hides her face in tinsel tears. closing
his eyes with his hands meaningless, he wants to forget genius,
to forget yourself, forget the life ... but exquisitely thin
fingers are ideal people with tenderness Staughton steel
mechanisms break into neat pieces of his soul, facing the
street sounds and throw them like a brilliant novogdny rain soft
falgi.
every time he wants a sense, he was waiting for him, it comes
in, teases her incredible beauty before ridden on a rigid steel
chain dogmas cristae. swinging the swing he experiences tends
to love, but the more he achieves it, the more painful and
tougher to beat him self-destruct mechanism. like a pendulum,
he first dipped into the divine world a pleasant sweetness of
love, forget about everything and finding both missing the
meaning of existence ... and a moment later the rapid blows
mysleyubiyts the meat is crushed it with his massive legs with
sharp spikes on their fingers, they dissolve his
self-confidence as she turbid liquid in the bottle with a
bright label "solvent." Enamel love for life and his first
crack, frequent strings exfoliate from the beginning till the
end, the red claw syringes blown povsedevnosti unnecessary air
into the veins of a trembling hands, forming many small
bubbles, and now in full force enters the zeitgeist: the paint
starts peeling little pieces, like petals of withered roses ...
difficult to be alone.
I love I love I love I love I love I love I love:: kristaj
I can not live without love I can not, I can not, I can not::
kristaj I love you I love you love you love love love:: kristaj
