Monday, November 01, 2004

Day pressure

I stop.
Walk, run, go anything, I stir.
Tobacco.
I go.
Soul vissisitudes.
Noisy fingers.
Splashing nerves in this smoky pleasure screaming silently:
I wanna smoke!
And, relief.
Afterwards,
The custom.
Habits.
With a glass of water the boundness begins again.
Accompany.
And my already ulcered lungs of this agonic noisyment.
They ask me for oxigen.
This one that I fetch in this painted paper stick.
I glance.
Fear.
Death.
Then I leave out, or I pretend to leave.
And again the strugle amidst what I want to do and what my body wants.
And I stop again.
Tubes.
Tanned blood.
Nicotine which it´s breathed in my own air.
As if my only way of organic expansion would be a Le Mans.
Youth.
Roll my years.
Vicious.
My erosioned and dirty skin announces the present pleasure.
Insensitive.
Machines.
This unique pleasure.
Pain.
My flesh.
Time.
And after paramedical vans.
Letal disease.
Knowing myself anxious at the end of my life.
Fear.
Speed.
-We couldn´t do anything for her-
I die.
Tunnels.
And I don´t know where I am.
Instantly.

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