M Jak Milosc Online 808

Winter 1985

For many winters I spent the afternoon in front of the stereo.

not listening Wicked Gravity, or another song by Jim Carroll.

I moved to the music, imagining how I would have wanted to move to the sound of electric guitars.

My life was all there.

I feel like the ceiling of a church bombed.

Vacation Then too short, the lights in the tunnels, the half-open door of my room, the putrid water of the troughs, machines too dirty sand sea, the air too thick with dust particles.

A train to Hope, who disappeared after a few hours in the opposite direction.

There is a tear or desperately seeking to get off, but my eyelids are walls that do not want to fall, while there is fear of not being understood or understood only too well.

There are no dates on the documents of my exile.

The goal is the bottom of a glass that is empty slowly?

I need to greet me fine, with no cages or restraining order implicit in the words of some woman away.