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Heart is dark apart with marks of stitches from ******* who lies cut sharp.
I listen  and still miss them but time heal and wishes , come true once glue fills in my heart can beat for two.
Im just looking and hittin depression with hooks an waiting contemplatin if times is already wasted or wastin while im pacin drinkin till im feeelin that im lossin control on my actions, facin my booz not havin a boo, talkin  a slur waiting for a hey from her, but theres no her.Just me and this elixer cause I miss her, someone who don't exist but gives me a reason to vent other **** I have like tricks up my sleeve but these vents comin outta my left pit..
its a need to breath..
Vents from my heart and soul. feel im scuffed like soles, i can not center it all
i can not better this cold
I am just sick of it all,
im just bitter with aww, cute with a sensitive mind with an internal brawl.
Between good and demons who crawl thought of suicide in my head.
Puttin pictures of people i love into depictions of dead.
Wish it would go away,cause i dont have any lead,
I am the bullet, hollow in the head empty but only echos of shadow of what I could be.
Drift further and further away into the grey while I lay in bed
lookin at the cielin feelin some sorta way then going back to dreamin where its only an hour a day.
Insomnia strikes with a furry, as if I was the prey,as I pray..
My mind is primordial of a predatory intellectual state of mind,
im the predator  but I have no time to hunt, I rather stray.
Stray away from the status quot  , so i pack a bowl and light the stroll, i lack a home, but i rather to pray hov to keep the demons close cause they keep me on my tippy toes.
Life is a straw you choose to make it short, and abort cause you dont wanna be impregnated by wonder if you see the truths corpses.
Life hard to swallow like your throat was horse.
and stepped on by horses.
and burnt like paul walker porsche.
No remorse.
for the other other side, like split divorces.

By: Emmanuel Jv Hernandez
3/22/14
Quot libras in duce summo ?
JUVENAL.


C'est une chose grande et que tout homme envie
D'avoir un lustre en soi qu'on répand sur sa vie,
D'être choisi d'un peuple à venger son affront,
De ne point faire un pas qui n'ait trace en l'histoire,
Ou de chanter les yeux au ciel, et que la gloire
Fasse avec un regard reluire votre front.

Il est beau de courir par la terre usurpée,
Disciplinant les rois du plat de son épée,
D'être Napoléon, l'empereur radieux ;
D'être Dante, à son nom rendant les voix muettes.
Sans doute ils sont heureux les héros, les poètes,
Ceux que le bras fait rois, ceux que l'esprit fait dieux !

Il est beau, conquérant, législateur, prophète,
De marcher, dépassant les hommes de la tête ;
D'être en la nuit de tous un éclatant flambeau ;
Et que de vos vingt ans vingt siècles se souviennent !...
- Voilà ce que je dis : puis des pitiés me viennent
Quand je pense à tous ceux qui sont dans le tombeau !

Le 16 juillet 1829.

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