scripts

I look back at yesterday - considering the absence of time boundaries, it could have been anytime, even before the cannibals' revolution - and I think; how could I have described, my thirst and desire to be drenched, drowned in such light' flow, without having it burning my sensory feelings membrane, heart retina, bursting pupil for shattered iris. Pleated lids and yet blinded, if I could breath rays into my lungs, surely would I spit lava and exhale smoke.

Of course, hearing those scripts and unpuzzled iconoclasms, they thought well of seeking ignition, vainly grasping cryptic fuel (magma).

"I never caught a beam of light with my divided limb sticks."

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

And I guess that she was probably cursed, haunted by like a sweet, stretched poison, a killer snake, speeding like a snail, dipped in arsenic, pumped and drenched - in her own blood. I dreamed instincts of destructions, for her own genuine protection.

-she is aiming at her brains!

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

By the window, rolled up on myself like my limbs are dead, bones: shattered, liquified or dusted by the flame... Through the glass, just enough sun to wear in spring, rays falling on me like thin rain. Please, wash my old leather, too many seasons for one'(s) skin. I keep my eyes closed; four pairs of lids couldn't be too much. And it seems, pictured behind those blinds, the same animated sequences moving there, outside. Reverie or dream? Life always was too me something strange, unrealistic or maybe, a fantastic reality, paranormal, they would say. I never was really good at sorting truth from imagination. So, with time, I just figured out I'd look at them as both part of one bigger entity. My life, or the world; I don't know, sound the same to me. All I'll ever know...