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Better than love voyeur

I

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II

Hurts - Better Than Love, videohurts

Every second is a lifetime
And every minute more Brings you closer to God ...

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And they will be 7 ... (There is no art in these letters, there are only memories infinite)

Time is subjective: the face of suffering the years passed slowly. Now I understand my mistakes and that the wounds have healed, I wonder why it happened so fast.

will soon arrive in June 1921 and the winter solstice every year. Triumphantly enter the winter, taking my precious fall.

I've had time to treasure pieces of this season, but weighs the idea of \u200b\u200bwaiting a full year to see the leaves on the trees colored red. Exactly

for 7 winter solstices my life took a turn that took me long to realize ... I fell deeply in love of a woman who could not feel for me as well ... On his birthday I assumed that he loved her and take me away from men (emotionally, of course) forever.

His love torturing my eyes long time. Years of wasted tears and stifle cries to end submerged in a "nothing" invasive.

Solstice This time is different: its not cold afflicts my soul

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tasteless His body was delivered to the coldness of the sheets. He was completely still. His mouth was ajar to allow expelling the deep sobs choked him. Her cheeks were red and frost the emerging preferred route of tears from his eyes, which closed weakly but as if they were stapled.

His arms rested on his head still. His neck looked more beautiful than usual (this time I was naked). His hair fell rendered on the pillow and brushed his shoulders slightly hunched.

The rest of her body was petrified. His weakness will soothe the soul little by little. The only muscles were demonstrating for a dying breath and the only sign of pain was the vacuum that existed in his chest in the same place where a day was his heart.

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I was with waste of colors and flavors new . I was

with many things that kept to a special occasion.

I was so ... Full of nothing and subject in an all that promised a future submissive ...

However, I believe again!

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Invitation to Confession: POETIC DANCE

result of a very interesting invitation I received ...

I liked very much and hope to repeat it.

who asked me what he described as "poetic Dance"

for me has been the creation of a whole out of pieces of soul.

Thanks.

my beam is interlaced red light, when I contemplate
When confused
La, tension, pain and delight of my emotions
shuddering ...

If

do me the favor of giving me a little
of mercy and take me to
lie beyond ignorance and
but you always tell me and tell me we are not equal,
Again, we are one more than the pain .....

sublime and strange pain that clouds my being, but it was something he felt useless on my emotions,
it would be of them if you were not you?

green Intense sunsets hope distressing covered by brown. Blood
stuck in my veins,
no shortage of reasons to hate.
I want your love and leftovers of which are sewn to my soul.

disappear until I have cold .... and between
vague words, touching my skin that make
blood, and it breaks my heart, Please,
Can you stop talking?, hate your voice, beautiful
hate your lies, I hate to think you're lying,
hate to see and not see, being blind and being colorblind ...
but there you are, with your eyes and
escrutante your heart, Where?, If your heart is in it .....

Outlaw rictus to lift a morsel
From your lips the melody in the air,
What to do ... feel the touch,
As a cherry crush, delight, bliss on my lips
...
Is it destruction or delivery?
What is desire?

Look back,

Why

Why? I think you do not really exist, if
always supposed that nothing could really harm me, nothing
could go out of my ... and my heart is squeezed
while seem to enjoy it, I'm still waiting
something that will never happen, and happen in my drawer of misery, misery
hidden, and where there are only dreams unbearable
a sigh .... a long sigh

your art lover I crucify your skin traitor, I torturing thoughts
murderer before conceiving oblivion. Jake
've done to my senses, have emptied my heart and yet you own my life.

Look back I saw nothing at all,
I felt like a drop of ink that fades when
falls
paper was gone, and knew he would never in my hands
were only words empty

You think I care, you know I care, yet only
you go, just think of yourself and I made the blame when
really just my fault ... right? and is that whenever I hear your sobs
in every place of my room .... Your tears do not stop that
myself as needle stick as it as the pencil
digs into my hand, punishing, as always

I like your prayers! Only excite me ....

Be honest: have mercy on my arms. We
tell me, tell me: what's stopping you?

I stop your insecurities .... your anger, your rejection
, and your eternal evil to me ...

Do you want me to come so dear?

Shout! Shout it out loud for all to hear ....

A subjective evil you have grown with each step.

emo not scream, but you have forced me to shut up

"Subjective? perhaps ....

and now, now that I am free at last decide to stab my senses

Do you think you can kick, laugh ....?

free You will not be never, never me!

stop! I do not want to hear

slash "your senses? I revel in it ...

I delight in your eternal and stupid appeals

should apologize NOW.

Blame? ... I laugh like crazy,
think you can lick my wounds,
spiders myself, to see run, Contrails
ambrosia, vibrant silks,
That I view my blood, your blood may
create ribbons
of bells in my

fingers ...

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why is this man sitting here? / 4.91 , photography Rouja
(Some rights reserved, licensed under Creative Commons 2.0 )

and has the expression of a pervert, a man who has seen much porn, like all men, scratching images with eyes red eyes and long hands, long hands and curiosity intact, exacerbated. Not tired, not tired yet?

not tired, from the armchair, wrapped in the blue smoke of his cigarette, spectator or voyeur , quivering cock in his pants and lip on the cigar. A true connoisseur and yet, schemas learned through repetition not enough to savor the experience. The experience is enough in itself: it is a story, it happens, unpredictable, he disarms. He leaves nothing to grab onto. Porn passes quickly through the head, fragmented and divided, flesh against flesh, a hobby of trading cards that are repeated.