the blowing of the icy wind sang the lost words of Alexandria

a definition difficult to translate without the feelings that do not yet exist

it sought the reflection in the silver glass where live truths it still had to know.

the strings on the fingers ventrilocating the lives of others as if playing with everything that is serious.

From here, even Monalisa takes time to say if it is person or something else, maybe even another, a different word.

ABCD, 1234, always the same again.

What does the beauty of the concept matter if the ones who see it, no longer needs it?

Made of ink or blood, invisible canvases of such petty existences.

Useless. To write, to read, to be normal or abnormal.

Ants on a ball floating in the void. It is ridiculous.

Worries, wars, love, constantly needing oxygen to breathe is ridiculous.

So many useless books and I have so much to say... to ask..., I can't even say hi.

I cannot die or live.

Hahaha lies hidden in the songs without having truth to reveal, a cycle of impossibilities, it isn't solved, a distraction that instigates the search for what has never been there, and even knowing the ridiculous search continues.

the yearning for something,

anything,

that finally solves...

aaaaaa hahahha I laugh in word because laughing for truth is not so real.

the ridiculousling of sleepwalking, the inventions of a ridiculous life, which still tries to continue breathing, to find the answer that does not exist.

Hahaha! Koksaskpksa Hsuhashuhsa

Life is good... I don't even know who you are.

let's close this world

Peta