|In the street, a man snuggles his wife's nightgown and observes the benign tumor she has exactly in the base of the neck
Never knew nothing, never wanted to know nothing. I came here when it rained in the city; I looked at my old feather jacket and felt like a grey duck. Before I had closed myself in here, I had the chance to observe the conversation of three corpses in the subway:
"I think that before having blown up openly, the situation already had caused its effects inside of us, deafening hope"
"Will he be a lyric without a cure hypothesis? Many had died, more will die for a wandering ideal"
"I see you more worried with the dead than with the living"
"This is part of our lives"
I stopped hearing them at this moment. Every time I hear a siren, the twine that unites me to reality breaks. This time there was no siren, but it broke anyway.
I gave up having hope in myself
Sometimes I'm judged as a heartless and uppity woman and they're right. I still remember the first time I fucked a man, it was near a church and I still had the hair slightly blond. I don't remember what I felt during the act. I felt to be more ridiculous than the blue-dark bow that he was wearing, and what can be more ridiculous than fucking a man dressed with a blue-dark bow and first communion shorts? I don't remember what I felt, I think I didn't felt anything.