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The walls of his room

I stick my regrets to the walls of his room
They cling mute, memories of September
I stick my regrets to the walls of his room
To silence the remorse that brings November

forget my regrets on the walls of his room
They steal my laughter discrete without ever getting caught
I forget my regrets on the walls of his room
Raiders defeated smiles, dust and ash

I leave my regret hung on the walls of his room
suffocating, they watch, to grow
and extend my regrets I leave hanging on the walls of his room
Stronger and more real, they seek my soul to crack

When I retire my regrets walls of his room
They will be watching the insidious traitors want me back!
When I retire my regrets walls of his room
So I promise, I swear I'll defend myself

kill my regrets against the walls of his room
I will confront them, they bleed to tender words I'll kill my regrets
against the walls of his room
Between two glasses I laugh at having a stomach ache!

and I give my regrets murdered on the floor of his room
And I go, happy to no longer be heard and abandon
my regret, I leave to November
And when I come back, we wrote in December

Ice How Long To Freeze

Playing him

I want to play music on it
your fingertips ...

To see her dance notes on his skin
my hands ...

Hear his voice on the scope
who invented the long arm of ... A silent white

that drags on the dermis
Again ...

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If I bite the toes of a dead frosty night,
If I think about Paris when rising in the morning is icy
If I saw my fall deeper than a summer
Because I t ' still hoping my hours in forgotten ...

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If I was

The moon and the sun at times tangled
The stars hung with mist, a bored ...
Sunlight on the sheets the night
Remembrance and fatigue, morning orange.

Two summer clouds in a sky monotonous
Myths bewitched in the garden yesterday to
Envy half-words, soaring in veiled
A serenade to life in early fall.

Between here and nowhere, between here and later
The infinite conjugate on the horizon of time
And death pushed the edge of nothingness ...
When the moment arose complicit in our eyes.

Venturing for the best and forget the worst
Enjoy oaths of happiness murmured
A moment of regret in a collapsed laughing ...
And the words on the skin writing our sighs.

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Friends

Tonight, I'm afraid.
I'm alone in my bed and I'm afraid.
My throat tightened.
My eyes are wondering if they cross again yours.

I'm afraid to be alone Alone in a world
ridiculous.
Without anybody to glorify the absurd,
Without hibiscus that grows poems.

I'm afraid to love without you
Montreal To have a horror of your absence everywhere.
To walk the night on St-Denis,
And cross your face on an old poster.

I'm afraid to paint your flat white.
To open your drawer and take a t-shrit.
To forget your smell or imagine no reason.
I fear that one person could forget your name.

I'm afraid, I dunno what else to say!
I'm afraid to lose half if you're not there.
I fear CALISSE I FUCKING scared ...
I even fear over bawl me with you forever.

Tonight, I'm afraid.
You are alone in a bed that is not yours and you fight without a gesture.
I am alone in mine and I hold my tears.
I'm afraid, so afraid, but you no ... t be afraid.

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fear? The next time

After
uncontrolled laughter There's tears in my eyes that drip.
You make me die of laughter, crazy!
You put me in all my statements, except love.

Our friendship is even more noble
Even if half of what they say does not exist. The other
half shy, you swim in troubled waters
I shake your hand when you offer me your arm.

The same notes on our scopes, it is true, it is attractive.
You like that is similar, but the difference is appealing.
You are sweet to my heart, too much to be lover.
Too little to love, accomplices, that's enough.

I love you but not as in "I love you."
The "I" and "t" is stronger than "love."
You and me I think we can spend the life
laughter to tears, no matter ... if we are friends.

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It was another night of fire. Another fire, witness burns my soul.

There was no recruiting, no problem. When perfection capped. Almost unbelievable ... a dream. Yes, a dream. The realization of a wish made in a letter never to be read. Written the day after a night of observation. With control for fire, again. Always.

letter that will never be read.

"Better to write you to tell you that. Because yesterday everything was perfect. And next time, I wish it were still that way. Because I want to be your friend. That's what I tell you ...
But it hurts me. You do not see nothing in my eyes burning? It hurts me to be your friend, but gently and not more than not being. You are difficult to approach, sir. I do not know why I love you, but it is. I like your intelligence. Your ideas, your reasoning, the way you say. Your voice. I can ever decipher exactly how you feel. It's complex. Your duality fascinates me. And thou shalt read as ever this letter, I'll tell you what else too. Your eyes. Your beautiful intense eyes, your eyes shining. I want to know the smell of your skin, its warmth. Running my hand over her face perfect, plot contours with a finger and go slide on your nose and then touching your lips. Just before going to kiss on your neck ending that seems built to accommodate a reflection of the flames. I would take you by the neck and pull you against me, gently. Kiss you again. Travelling from my lips down your neck to your ear. By sliding my hands on your back and push just the nails. Like to tell you not to leave.
But I am your friend. And that's fine, that too. But ... "

I've never finished. Should I write next? It was so perfect. Accurately. When I wrote this letter secret, I imagined the scene, on the edge of a fire in the same place that all this happened. I wanted the next time is as magical as the last.

In fact, he knows everything about my looks. He knows what is happening in my heart when I see it. And in my head. I should have never doubted. Since the beginning, I felt he could read me like an open book.

I knew the smell of her skin. Indefinable. Bewitching. Its heat ... so I find the words but it is indefinable. Exotic, racy. I stop here, the rest is mine. A fraction eternity caught between everything and nothing. One evening when I told him 'I love you "so loud in my mind that told me verbally a second later he knew what I thought. It was he who put into words what I was not saying. One night of fire. One evening ...

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Glossary

Progressive
Notable.
Guitaresque?
Universal. Punctuated
. Inverted
.
Bright,
Nostalgic ...
Scope!
Sol
Nocturne.
Not present,
Living.

Simple Words.
Words,
Nothing but words.

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Fire

This is about a lesson and an observation.
One summer evening. The end of a great summer.
I was there in my bath, thinking of the events of the evening. The dim light gave a romantic aspect to ceramic tile walls. I could see two faces kissing. Finally, with a good imagination, a ceramic tile to marble patterns may conceal a wealth of images. One of these nights when we say that all is well anyway, he must face life head down, but ultimately it was decided to forge ahead, but looking straight ahead. It's amazing what you can think fearless in the heat of a fire in the darkness of the night. I stared
the wall. It would really says an old French couple who were kissing on each tile. All the tiles. The water was too cold. The fire had he perhaps been a little too hot ...

twigs. There were twigs. Great detail and a timid fire. Papers without burning importance. I realized at that moment that this atmosphere comes alive in the same way every time. It's like that in a world where people find the magic fire. It's been long moments of silence peaceful. Deep thoughts, songs that pass through the head, eyes that stick on his neck to see in the reflection of flames. It makes beautiful moments. I was not sure sometimes if I listened more voices or lyrics. I listen better left unsaid. But most attention. Perfect then, all the ingredients were combined.

The mind wandered a fine mess to another. Trying to find remedy for malicious mysteries. I communicate well, all at once. But I listened, mostly. And so much the better. A sentence. As a figure appears in a pattern. A double sense subliminal. Between two beautiful quotations, an uprising of ideas, I went to my important papers and scribbled a few words. The author came to life. I picked out each word, wrote down the whispers of the muse surgically. Éloignant peu à peu mes pensées du long combat à venir. Le feu brûlait. Il était fascinant. Le feu. Le penseur de la phrase aussi. J'étais fascinée, tout simplement. Un petit bout de conversation limite scientifique, qui prend forme de crédo pour la guerre. Sorti du contexte, dans les oreilles d'une écrivaine qui veut vivre, sur le bord d'un feu...
"N'essaie pas d'écrire ce qu'est le feu, brûle ta feuille plutôt et constate comme c'est beau!"

Froidement, j'aurais simplement noté la citation et y aurait vu le même sens. Mais c'est difficile le stoïcisme quand LA phrase est dite au bon moment, au bon endroit, par la bonne personne. Le cœur flanche. It's a great lesson but not forget the finding. After writing these few words, I found that there was one of the nicest things I heard. I was more fascinated. A mystery had fallen.

The water was now too cold. My skin smelled of soap "the cat". A good old soap purchased in Paris who came to give credibility to the olfactory scene that looked like a French movie. I exited the water and dressed me warmly: I was cold. It was the beginning of the end of a great summer. I was happy. With the soul in this beautiful phrase full of meaning for me, and heart I could not deny. I am lying near the big white cat, under the warm quilt. My hair smelled of fire. I closed my eyes to this mystery once more, knowing that morning he had disappeared. No more unanswered questions, it was so simple background. I loved her. For nothing. I just loved him.

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Mirages

Magic
Small Indigenous threatening
plaster motifs
Greek movements
A voice
ink in my reality

A hand with fingertips to reassure me

Pyramids
Blue Snow, Lapland Feelings Smiling

filter decorating envy
Wood Flute Music
strange campfire

Still Under my eyelids his eyes and my eyes

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Shadow

I'm stingy goaltender to rattle the languid
Guardian of your hell, witness your pain flare
LORD carnivore nourished by your visceral terrors
Vampire polite enough to the mine, insidious hypocrite theatrical

I'm watching you, prostrate bruised, chained, lost
Slave of your sadness, your sanctuary desecrated. Your
inexorable lamentations, your intimate inflections
Your destitution are deep to my soul an offering

Forgotten, silent shadow, I spied ...
I wait, I watch, Death is my friend ...

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Prose morning

I set a mound of humility.
I chanted the praises of vanity. This
reason my ideas
understanding of dialects. This
intonation for such mood ...
I laugh, I
of humor but I am sad without pity ...
Compassion goes to suicide. For the suicidal will
hypocrisy
On my life is made of paris. Did
important than the acts of wonder
motivations misunderstood. Where are you

colorful flowers? ...
dark forests Enchanted Unicorn
overlapped by the fairy
I do not want to be understood,
I do not understand you, I love
smiles, cheerfulness
Do not be selfish, laugh!
you live, I live, it is enough.
I carry weapons to hurt
I have no tears to be addressed.
I would just laugh.

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Bottle

Tonight I threw empty bottles.
Thou hast seen happen, as you took a worry.
You guessed the message that you not dig a wrinkle.
I wax anything either, your eyes shine brighter than the moon.

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Fascination

I still face.
It is there, is beautiful 'em worse.
found 'em good, too bad it makes me shit. It makes me
shit, but I can not help it.

It was just fascinate me.
It fascinated me, it was almost everything. All
yes, but intensely ...
one time to another, details seep.

J'me j'continue worse torture.
Like it but I feel almost free.
make me feel free, it looks like he imposes!
J'voudrais squatter his world, he carries within him.

I really try to stay calm.
But it scares me all this list ...
This list of words and gestures,
In words like, and other things too ...

'em look bad writing.
I was wondering if he suspects it.
He suspects it not, he knows it.
'em is beautiful, yes, it fascinates me ...

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The Poison

literary critic threw God was innocent and kept sin. He decided it was now necessary to atone for the sin of writing, to expiate in the tragedy. He retained the religion of art make a mess of everything it touches and moral affectations: bigotry.

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In the Labyrinth

"honors dishonor. The title deteriorating. Brutalizes function," Gustave Flaubert.

"A politician is an ass on which everyone has sat except a man" EE Cummings.

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Epiphany

I now know what was in that man - our prince - who seemed so vulgar and so repulsive: it looked like the singer: the same short legs, the same brittle nastiness, the same dance Guignol and mechanical, the same grin, the same "positive" without thinking, even the smell of death. The invisible hands of bitterness and vanity waving his hysteria.

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Politician

The politician is destined to fail.

The politician is the failure.

Look at the politician: he looks like an old man in shorts. It does not look very healthy, he has bad breath. There are women who give to politicians, probably because they see it as an extreme form of pornography. The politician

necessarily contains a high percentage of servility.

Many snakes to swallow before ...

By construction, the politician is not a free man. The politician close

filth of its concept.

The job of the politician is to remove politics.

When the politician met at a dinner for example, people who are not politicians, he is unusually kind and attentive, as if apologizing for his calling as if he was ashamed. Is this not proof of cowardice constitutive politician? But when he does not suspect that modesty, he behaves like a pig.

If we were told that he is a politician, nobody would admit to his table like a coward.

The politician knows that you despise him, and he spends his time be justified.

The politician agrees with Plato: he carries the ugliness of its activity.

The politician is neither male nor female, it is ugly.

The politician, which criticizes the utopian, thereby denounces what it is.

serves. What else could he do?

The aim of the politician is shameful, is: "Forget me not." And indeed, it has the tein demort of Myosotis.

Even when he gives the appearance of being angry, whining politician. He whines that we do not care enough about him.

Corruption is consubstantial to the politician. Otherwise, he could do his job properly. How the politician's job is done correctly in the bitch. It can not be otherwise, the politician is a man of half measures. The politician takes half measures, but he imposes an authoritarian and brittle. Still, the politician wants to be loved is his way of being naive.