lettre de reves rupture. pour moi seule

derriere mes yeux j'ai sentie le verre se briser, en moi.

dear you... i was about to begin writing i do not have a clue what exactly on my blog, with many doubts it will sound that poetic or nice or why shall i even care . but i do. and i remember times from my past when romy would om eto teh bellamuse when i tried to quit drugs and there i sthis one time i will never forget , where i was lying in the gallery , the walls empty but inside of me there was my blood feeling dry, and the dryness starting to burn my emotions a little too much, that day i smoked in this room so much rocks t'll the life you use to carry is cracking like the vision of dream is fading. and don't know why exactly i had the guts to call the one who cared by then so fucking much for me, mostly she always carried a part in a heart i see when she looked at me with hopes i would live without it, without all the shit i run so easy too whenever i am craving for passion, o all the feelings so called beautiful even strangers will be triggered, and i. i handle myself, but i act like a fucking child who wants to grow the wrong backwards, a 26 yrs old me, feeling older then i am, feeling ready to die. i know i am not full of lies, far from it, because fuck sake i would write it all in a fire already burned down. it's hard sometimes when my efficient inner psychology helper gets in the portrait, pretty fast and not bad at confession, he holds a way , knowledges so pure and a strenght like a tiger to heal, not a key but the exact way to clean inside, this voice qui resonne trop fort dans ma tete whenever i fail under this headspace so heavy, frozen already i still pretend it's a comfort, doesnt mean it's a feeling. they. are lost, an di am found, alone. on a night like tonight, i am glad i stayed alone, i hat ebeing in crowds when i cant smile in my head, and i every words in my head i know already so far from th esounds of happy reggae. and miggan called since she wanted someone to appear at a party with people i tried for a second to communicate , and it took me a split one to know not every one i seven aware of how much one is eyes can hold so much. it's o.k. i force myself every time i do wrong to forgive and i pretend the regrets are invisible. and this is exactly the look into my eyes right now. i said to a girl long ago in an alley dark o fmontreal the day she told me she was leaving the city, and the ocean would remind her of me. i cried and told her, le cou d'une femme c'est un crystal precious, fragile, the kind of crystal you be careful not to brake. and now when i think of times going by, i saw her recently, still we talk friendly i am not bad at all for keeping and feeding the friendship i care for.
at least i am making an effort. but i remember the scene that night, and it was so intense, i fell under the moon maybe hopeful sh ewould spare me the pain, and i have a bad luck and a heavy heart, and let me spare you of the love i like to say was going to grow in a calm tornado with me. these days it feeds me empty or this rage i know does exist. the people i dream a little but i hear the lover talking like a fool he dared laughing at me, whispering for the time she said she loved you, like a tragedy i think nobody will love me the way she did. chances are the truth i felt in her eyes was hers but also the reflection of mine. it my heart was giving to a lie then it drives me even more crazy . it's duality all over , the hope resist, but the drastic makes it hard for me to do the radical i dream to change. change for ever. without loosing who i am . when i get so sober, by forcing the life outta me, it's slow and it gets so hard i am bored and sad looking, i feel then the shit i burned inside me. ... and what else... shut your fucking mouth already margo yo ucould have forced yourself to sleep, but these nights i lay in bed an dforce myself to be blind and no notice of my body he exist. and i feel it then the love is down there stable hungry at me, and my soul floathes in the air so close under clouds. i don't call them the dreams of my life .

Duras l'a dit et cette phrase je l'ai compris. un ecrivain seul c'est de la folie, car rien ne l'arrette. j'avais peur seule mais j'ai jamais fait un geste pour que quelqu'un ne vienne.