I was in the country's ass without fasteners. Each burst of sentimentality
provoked me of revulsion.
I sank into the maze of alcohol and baronnades.
Every Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday evenings, high-pitched, I ventured to places all as "Paris" as each other.
I wanted the light, I wanted revenge
And I wanted & lustful night.
... Until that moment when I encountered this meeting, "flattering".
Everything went so suddenly, as if love had no time.
It was immediately loved, the desire was thrown at us so violently.
Everything was so smooth, everything was so romanticized that I vomited.
It was after that disgust has emerged as inevitable.
I love in my hand and the days passed, she became more moist and gradually he slipped he slipped on the floor ... and finally, where indeed my heart was dying since the years.
My words were harsh because I'm guilty, but the only one to blame was me.
Simplicity gave me hints, I was excited by the conflict, absence, violence, ignorance.
J'auréolais my role as whore-dependent emotional subject of a selfish asshole-casualty impulses dictated his dick.
And I think coming back to him after each glass swallowed: I was haunted by the ghost of my former .
These episodes of acute nostalgia no sequelae were governed by love. I just
nose in the shit of my contradictions.
I loved chasing men who were not for me because I knew full well that there would be no finality happy I Castres and all those who claimed to love me because the notion of the couple gave me clearly sick.
I strayed into the picture.
And I could finally accepting the situation, which had a nasty taste reheated.
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