I dream of nothing. I have butterflies wings before vermilion eyes, dark thoughts for two. I had a baby to share with you, but I ... Do not worry, it's nothing ... Will a good kid or a clueless whore for adoption. No, you see, it stopped dreaming is finished turn on the carousel of life on your pony misery. You think about what, where now? Dreamed of you who do nothing, which was just live your destiny. With your crocodile tears that I wiped each time I sprayed a mist of rain. To hide the absence, silence and perhaps death. Yes, perhaps death, surely not ... After you remember anymore.
So you see, I do not dream about anything, I did survive only through words that are written by ourselves like this and like that, it may well be. I tell you this but you do not care. You've regained your ghetto, you end up messing up the wings that had you in the back.
So you see, close your eyes, go to sleep ... Tighten your Winnie against you ... We will meet, probably not to heaven but perhaps in hell.
So you see, turn out the light that is not lower eyelids, leaving me a trail of blood, a wave of scent on my sheets. Leave me alone.
Of all the ways we find to love or make war.
Tilou Orleans, March 11, 2007
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