الخميس، 28 أبريل، 2011

Suited

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suited

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weep

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my eyes light back, i mean i go to weep, and they get larger, not bright, somehow bigger, and cleaner...
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There's no news...no thoughts at all. No news. Bring the paint-brushes home, finish a picture. Marry, seater. a crown of wiry air, slight sweat, no smell. Lazy in work. Don't care about future, qualifications, just prepare a amount of books, to read in long future, when you will have nothing to do but sleep....somehow you will get back to a secure place, or get ill and old, and en up in a care-home, so amount types of books. And wait. OWen Jones and arabesques calling, abandoned places and skies. Palaces. 

The fight has finished, it left us winning without a whisper, we cried the light, and every-one rested....the rest was most in the heathens, but i rested, because living this easy, shouldn't shake up the days. The infidel was just discarded and forgotten, I wanted to fight, I fought everyone, then I called further and further, transgressing through images and figures, to reach a higher point, like a little star-cross, glowing red. It will take two weeks, two weeks to destroy heathen soul. So anyway, they got to sleep, but where they were sleeping was in the fires. Over.

I decided they had gone through a burnt day, and I stayed quiet.

I'm happy, even though there's no fair vengeance.

Just quiet.

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