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In the morning i open my eyes and i count
silently dusting wrinkles off the clock . The perfect hour when the sleep its more sweet. At noon i open the information to see in what the level they put me: I am ? or they delete me? I sprawl and open my big mouth, my soul its out, and tow tears flow down with rage down my cheek... on the floor dreams ...very preciouses dreams My wrath still scream" maniac", My hands still tremble on one blue wedge, who was from one celebrity writer. Somebody said if i write with whim i will have celebrity to... Afternoon i look back to clean my tray let down like one snake on all the torn papers, on the all ideas throw on the author pages ... If i was born in Paris i was one lady, but i am born in one different world, where the people told me "no one"... better to forget who i am sometimes and to tear my character of me... To run no identity on the bank of deep water maybe it will swallow me with all my ideas , with all my words spoken or not for strangers. "I will be free! "
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