Staple Bullets, crysta_ling Photography (All rights reserved) My first (or second, but the former was an act of affirmation, this too is truth). Others are caught drunkenness of their lives, are cast to walk, get to the edge of existence: they are ways to symbolize their status changes over time, or are just strange desire to regenerate. Nothing changed, it is true. Clac made, like a stapler in my ear, two seconds or maybe just one. A sharp pain, brief and sterile. Enlarged nose momentarily by the fumes of alcohol. That's it, lady. Do you have a new hole in your body. Transferred.
is true that with every passing second is trivialized, and ultimately far more real, more profound or authentic was only that microsecond-time portion is over, is over-low to taste, to taste pain. Clac , like a stapler. Grampante.
'll remember forever, however. Be "my hole" memorial. The occasion deserves. That's why you can not get another hole in time. Each must have its time, the glut would only be en su trivialización. No puede ser trivial traspasarte el cuerpo.
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