the day after is just as worse
and I found myself, inexplicably, to seek answers to questions posed badly.
imagining the dead alive, to be ready when this will happen.
live thinking about the betrayal, to reach that level of saturation that will allow me to break out without scoring, a single boom ends, but the calculated destruction.
've done a fair question - and I gave a wrong answer, only short-sighted
I gave a partial response, failure, hesitant,
delayed in its effects over time. like a frayed rope that does not take any more.
in the reality of the game, I get lost in understanding what is real and what is real and visible and hidden, and do not know what I should know, that in the eyes of the world is nothing and I speak as a subject.
expect to wake up in the act and turn it into tragic farce. no catharsis, no intervention: a desenlace anticlimatico dirt and leaves viewers with a bitter taste and criticism in a whisper.
apocalyptic revelation, reduced in effect, maintained in power, debased the act, - The masterpiece of a mediocre poet.
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