segunda-feira, 8 de junho de 2015

How old are dreams?

Surprises...out of time, in the wrong place.
Sad voices. But with a scent, smiling at me?
Reasons why. Reasons for.
I'm sorry, I (still) don't understand, but I'm eager to.
You see, your voice gives birth to phosphenes.
Stars in my eyes.
Copy my tone. Have it with you in cold mornings.
Start to write.
There's this chance.
Take it, just don't use it. Live it.
We could be mephobic, but together fear (that) would pass.
The green sight, oh green light.
Have a go. Be my new tattoo.
The will to write your story, here, there, everywhere.


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