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Le Monde de L'Écriture » Encore plus loin dans l'écriture ! » Textes non francophones » Constriction

Auteur Sujet: Constriction  (Lu 779 fois)

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  • 💡 - "j'ai pas l'temps d'te mentir" - ?
    • frreee
« le: 11 novembre 2016 à 21:53:05 »
I was like.
Ok, now some shitty things happen, I should care about this limbo to not divide myself by zero. My darkness friends seem to specify an accurate advice. Formulations, images, all that life between mental and body, makes me feel I am crawling in the fog of their existence. I love them, and they drown up my cephalic flesh into aerial and atmospheric skies that would never allow me to land.
I am the drug, I am the deep and the death. Doubtful virtuosity, anarchic organisation, all fuelled by fear and anger, mean I wake up in labyrinthine paradoxes which cut myself, multiply my being, cross my functions. Terrorizing the realist collection winner fan, my conscience collapses in freakiness. What did you do ? So talks the normative mass. I just want to answer, but clouds circle my words you ear.
Then clarity tries to reach my tongue and fingers, and sometimes occur actually.
I am on the pursuit of a Human God, I am on the pursuit of myself, I am on the pursuit of all of you against me. I would eat all the clouds, my hate is richer than your love, and we fall in an endless hole above our heads. Up is down, as they said.
Brawling ideas in forsaken mind cities. Ghosts haunting a cottonfucker listening to hells bells and singing as they do. I know what I am talking about, my soul, fallow of a past revolution, disappeared with the tortured questions, sorrow and woe.
Do you like my weird obscurity ? Do you hate ?
Not as I do both of them.
Punch me in the ear to prove that myself is also myself, do you understand this ?
Then never go back again.
"crois pas qu'un diplôme va rattraper ta vie d'môme
t'as qu'à chercher mon coeur si tu trouves ça facile
this is your last warning a courtesy call
mes pelures sont plus belles que vos fruits"


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