New Age. Of. Fallen. Leaves. Hearts. Colours. People.
New Bullshit. Running. Away. Never. Coming. Back.

S T O P

B R E A T H E

Left your home. For now. For anything? Found you? Gosh.
Stop this theatrical bullshit.
We lost us at the very first doorstep. It seemed to be important, not to have good, but a lot of sex. Alcohol. Having drugs. Not thinking clear. Being creative. Understand art. Only by being high. No one speaks about the coming down. Doesn’t exsist, ya know?

Going out. Buying fresh light. Two or three doses. Relax. Your bones. Your muscles. Your brain. Your eyes.
Till it comes back and breaks your neck.
You ring the bell. At the door you once left. With the white hope in your comfortable heart: out there, at the other behind, there is the very very true life MTV told you it is.
The door opens, eldery eyes, but familiar, catch your face, your doubtful face. The one who were there for you -and still are- once, are in there, in the walls of hope and destruction. Welcome home? Welcome back? Happy holiday?

Glad you smile again the voice says. Then you start crying.

 

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