soirs de pluie ne m'accorde pas l'oublie.

just now again the souvenir of you rest inside me , an di obsessively look at it...
what if .. you think the same thing at the same time. when we sleep and feel better .
i want you to... i want to see you when you are arround. .

you are gone. but not erased. ink. mark my words, ink. willl live , even when i get rid of the body , ink stays.
i am in love with rain, i let it soaked t'll it gets to the bones. teh rain is so small, only when you fall in sea, teh story of my love will looked so god damn empty. o heavenly wil i die before my love.
i don't create perfect lies, certainly not for someone like you .

''Sors-tu du gouffre noir ou descends-tu des astres?
Le Destin charmé suit tes jupons comme un chien;
Tu sèmes au hasard la joie et les désastres,
Et tu gouvernes tout et ne réponds de rien.
Tu marches sur des morts, Beauté, dont tu te moques;
De tes bijoux l'Horreur n'est pas le moins charmant,
Et le Meurtre, parmi tes plus chères breloques,
Sur ton ventre orgueilleux danse amoureusement. ''

these are obviously words from another, one that painted often my dreams with words that are only beauty.
i finally and hopefully came back for the last time, toronto behind it feels just fine. i tried to explained why does even days so triste in the end i feel good in montreal, the comfort surrounding me in streets empty, it never is empty no matter how lost one can be. there is no feeling being sranger to me. outside is looking closer to the way it should, fall. rain fall and wind moves faster then i do. i have lost the aggresive me when i ride my bike, i find myself in slow motion, people passing me by but it doesn't matter anymore. as long as my eyes can see, streets in my city by day always makes me look like i'm on drugs, i can't stop looking at every person arround me , in case i would know them. just to see. home sweet home , so small but o lucky my mind is wide enough to host my heart , blood runs. alive . far from dead.

attention have left me . you can call it a.d.d. or am i lacking words, i doubt so. it's funny i find my handwriting better then any of the shit in here, i keep it for my book, but i'm acting a little to carefull for the web, why should i care. because i get hard on myself, demanding. finding my words not intense enough, common it's not like i need to be falling under graves just to tell you how deep and dark it is. what if i tell you how sunny my lolly day has been . not. then the audience of ghost and beautiful strangers would possibly be suspicious of me. if really you think i hang out lots with misery then we will probably never meet ouside on a same kind of night, i visit the space in nights when you are sleeping, i do less, since mostly i like to remember my deams awake. so early tonight , my heart is slow an di do feel it, even drugs would not affect me, he's floathing in his own little ocean , slow waves t'll midnight, then i am the one by mistake creating a storm for him to beat it , through. t'll morning rise for him to grow tender again. tender, makes me hungry, but i am not hungry in my mouth, only in my mind.

shut me, remembering only pain will never be better then anything, it's just a way we have to pronounce verdict louder. but i want pleasure that feels true, sex is meaningless right now, i want sweetness deep ,wise enough to fade your fears, transparence away . i want tears in my cereal when i awake, and once they will appear. and it's gonna be just what i have been craving for. fine release cuisine .
i saw my body running chased by something else it wasn't beauty. i ran faster, like a monster, like a monster lover.

silences for now. i'll save the twirl fast moving i saw in the distance, i am good at instinctive predilection. it's never a bad thing to do handwriting, more... beautiful.

la suite ... baudelaire a un jour ecri, peut-etre aussi a force de regarder l'ennui on decouvre si tot que la pensee, meme obsedee est bien meilleure amante, lovely when my eyes you tought them open, wrong i can look straight, but all i saw comes from the past i recreated my way .

''Que tu viennes du ciel ou de l'enfer, qu'importe,
Ô Beauté! monstre énorme, effrayant, ingénu!
Si ton oeil, ton souris, ton pied, m'ouvrent la porte
D'un Infini que j'aime et n'ai jamais connu?''

vous voyez, ses ecrits plus tendre dans ma vie , que ces foutue jours de pluie glacee, longue heures je n'ai rien a regreter .


i am too lazy to read my test for another time to correct the mistakes there could be .