Creo que nunca me había expresado más poéticamente que sonriendo de dolor.
O llorando por la propia poesía.
Los sentimientos positivos no fomentan la producción de acetilcolina.
La felicidad no atrae a las musas; dicho de forma más abstracta.
De hecho, el masoquismo, el propio desencanto con el mundo circundante en todas sus facetas es lo que más magnetismo crea entre tu sinapsis y tus deidades.
La inspiración es una hormona.
He would lose it all I wouldn’t, not a thing. She wanted to sleep within you just forget where she had been. Linger in the ashes of that lighter smoke the troubling thoughts let them burn with incandescent furor. I’m falling back in 717 rolling my way down to the throbbing of your spleen cranial calibrations, unexpected relocations. Let the stupor of tomorrow be the rhythmic of our chaos. Run! Run! One, he would lose it all. I wouldn’t, not a thing. She wanted to sleep within you just forget where she had been. Linger in the ashes of that lighter smoke the troubling thoughts let them burn with incandescent furor. I’m falling back in 717 rolling my way down to the throbbing of your spleen cranial calibrations, unexpected relocations. Let the stupor of tomorrow be the rhythmic of our chaos.
Comentarios
Publicar un comentario