Tuesday, December 07, 2004

The Umbrella, Treason, The Road

wet, under the umbrella,
in a rainy day.
which one of these houses,
lost in the mist.
till i sleep
more than a thousand thoughts
push my brain,
but which sleep !


the woody window,
opens to the mist and sun.
i played with death,
and you ride the seesaw of madness.
my lost morning, will rise,
in the rusted mirrors,
where am i ?
night after night, day after day,
i feel the horrible earthquakes,
through this stoney halls of depression.
and so beautiful,
you leave me alone,
between the yellow leaves.
i'll button my lips,
like your tacky coat.
the mist and the sun,
romantic emembrances of past.


i stood, (like a hitch hiker),
with two suitcases,
and a baby.


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