Sulk...ing.....in...

Unstable...me.

A man lands on stone.
Looses breaths as the sand washes ashore the water of his dreams.
Dreams become illusions that exist on another time, another being.
Another era, bestow upon the silent bliss of his forgotten self.

The winds scrams his less and less recognizable frame of recognition.
His mind looses steps as it aproaches resembles of humanity,
The lesser shadows of his memories of self.
Stalking shadows grasps his remnants, the waves, the glares, the whispers,
they all fall behind, the little sounds, the little musics, the little events, upon wich he was created,
or dreamt.

The ghosts of his illusive ellas, the unending muses that once attended his minds,
to cure his self loathing, dread of touching, crave for a tiny smile to greet another world,
of illusions and dreams.

The muses have vanished, only concrete realities, unending frames of uninvited,
a new found verse of responsabilities, sakes and hopes, hopes he will not abide to complete,
desillusions he wont meet as expected. Yet, lingering unwelcomed, to this dreamless world.
This rhythims that grasp an overwhelming monotony, no shine, no pure dark.

Missing the moments were the embrace in the shadows, were a pleasent feeling.
Where the trees soaked in dark winds would caress the solitude graps of his mortality.
The noble feelings of this small gentle but minded hopes would greet and make his gloomed face,
smile like a silent smirk who greets cold for a burning heart. I miss those winds, the refreshed,
they loved my burning parts granting peace and that, i would have called love.

Not a word, not a event that could be described. just lived, taken upon and felt.

Those small tastes, now lingers as melacolic drink, that i sip drop by drop to blister,
small charades of  joy, small fortunes of endorfine wunder crushes.

Lies that gives truth meaning to a ending life.

I wanna hold you longer, touch your hair and smell your eyes, feel your nose, touch you lips and drive insanily on your tights, all but a moonlight wine drunk, illusions on a 4 am trip, that makes no sense, but a past self, naive and truthfull, i know better now, i know better. but....

Forgetting is a dream i to sink in,  and rewind the lost in that lost dimension,

Little dreams will crash, big dream are a joke. remembering ... that's...

Talking to the wind to remind myself i can still live in my head, and ignore the wold in wich one day i'll die in.

Maldito Creativo,
if my eyes would meet your eyes for more than 4 minutes, my soul, will get adicted to you.

on another note.6 years... that, took a while.