Documento sin título
                       
Turpentine
Mortification
Soap
Snow
Pesticide
Tear
Pool
Seal
Poker
Lepidoptera
                       
Texture. My own texture of breathing,
but overall, the pulse of the anxiety,
and the impossibility of  the construction.
Because to construct u need to deconstruct.
Chaos, a border, the senses. A smell, contained.
Perforation secluded. Cognitive persuasion, tenderness inside.
Organic matter that falls over the cell of nowhere.
When I dance I feel free, but elsewhere.
Elsewhere is where I want to go,
Where I've been; no, you haven't been.
But, I want to take you.
Over chocolate, between snakes,
since ever and forever.
Paradigmatic encounter of two or more belongings.
A situation that comes to life, explodes and gives.
Perfection in the encounter, primitivism when you hold.
Ultimate nothingness; pulse, a place to breath.
Because when u breathe you are alive.
When you are silent you heat, you heat yourself, not only hear.
You proclaim yourself, you believe in yourself and you pardon yourself.
And, if the air is not contained enough, you can contain it,
pressure it towards you or against you.
Talk to me little sleep, because when I am awake I sleep.
And, when I try to say my lips feel burgundy,
red and important and totally wipe ahead.
Turpentine, turpentine inside the map of my brain,
for it to wake me up and make me make sense of myself.
And then to yourself, maybe to others, maybe again.
I feel movement, and I want to move.
As if I was crying a whole different synthesis,
of Alice in Wonderland with a monster from the Ice Age,
a mammoth perhaps, a rhino.
Somebody said that rhinos are scary and tender at the same time.
And what if they vomited a pot of flowers on your face,
would you still feel they are producing a work of art?
Documento sin título
                     
                     
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