I'm making paper flowers. Listening to depressing music. I got up early, I went to school, I have associated with all these horrible songs in his head telling me to come out running from there. I go into trance and leave. This is what I have, a broken nose, a warm bed and a bun that wants to swallow me. Yes, and there have been conscious, that is, I've told the story he was living, I have in ter pre ta do. I want to miss it. Give me hugs, not leave me alone. Do not leave me alone anymore, because it could be dangerous. A girl who leaves home, leaving the music at full volume. A beautiful perfume of pear.
The guy I like has to have noticed, have approached me and I've done all sorts of stupid questions with ahuge smile on his face. I've put drawing manga eyes. The girl, with his father just buried, has been unruly in class, missed most of the previous quarter.
This is not a poem, this is something else, but wanted to be. But not angry with himself for not. Flows while exploiting the environment: the shouts, laughter, uncontrolled informal social relations (with no one to tell you when to speak and when to shut up, when to laugh and when angry). I know my authority, just for today.
I have strange dreams, after spending the day handing out resumes to all those enigmatic Etete workers and watching the open windows of the tenements. They (in dreams, not in the story), my father studied physics, classical physics
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