What am I used to? The push back and forth, the onslaught of chaotic sarcasms? Blood sponge geysers from the stained organs? Fist whitish-colored purple-pimples, cam-trenches? The singing of charmingly chirping fairies, flirtatious ladies in my childhood when an immortal emotion arrived in a single superstition, a sigh of magic?

Twilight red blood flames reflected in crystal eyes. At night, my heart cherishes nightmares and, as a strangled prison cell, I even tolerate indifference if I have to! - Is that what I'm used to? The constant dread of little boys that greets you every minute! Is the cherishing of you wasted? As a dilated crater, my broken ****** wounds all hang up, open up!

Your encouragement is needed for my livelihood. I wanted nothing more than to place my perforated heart on your fragile swan hands, and to be able to sit with you at the end of old age and soar on the heights of happiness, like a sky-whining plane flirting with the skirts of cloud continents!

I would have changed my life: for noble, chivalrous, proud purposes, because I found the secret tunnel in the hearts of ladies and listened in whispering sighs to the stray beats of our hearts!


"I wanted to be with me the one who would lay the guardian angel wings on me, if the sizzling fear greeted me again, he would share my sorrows and joys with a cherished maternal understanding!"