all the secrets hidden under my skin.
tired, I keep the last breath
to bring it up to the Citadel of your phrases piligrimm.
and if I'm not giving away this
is the last breath of you, I use't to scream.
What dreams may come, and where to stay young?
I'll scream so that my skin
goose swept on a faceless war and leave
train kids heard me and took into their world.
my last breath to express the "OM".
November burn themselves in maple leaves,
somewhere on the coast deserted beaches.
We left happiness among unsmoked eache
nerves in the bottom of the ashtray in the kitchen
Of our February home...
echoes of the laughter of children,
are not destined to be born.
and I will give them my last breath off
that they whispered us of
how beautiful a deserted beach
in November.
9/10.03.13