Guy Fawkes Mask How To

Thorns, blood, pain, drops that slide down the body, soul splits in two. Disappearing images are not images, imagination, battered, bloodied, stricken with death. And the wounds open and raw, and the fire burns near the body, mind and body as one to the other bones that are stuck deep twisted stomach.
and itchy eyes and itchy with alcohol flowing through them and see nothing had ever seen and had never been real. Blood drops, blood is life today is not painful and it burns and freezes and gets cold in those stupid hands played to dream. All lost all damaged there is nothing in the desert red tears windblown dust and nails and bruises and empty. Shadows of the Sun chasing my footsteps not take to any site they want to run that site are not calm enough in the sound of salvation are in seconds. And repeating and shouting
broken and teeth ache and creak and hands hands hands that are stupid. Mind you remember not to forget that you love and writhes on the bed, the pillow that gobbling throat choking and screaming and more screaming and blood and bones and pain. And
tunnel tunnel is not that there is not no door out just me and damn it fled here to escape more love I do not want go out I look not remember there is nothing to feel. No need to feel there is nothing to feel I never ever felt that maybe I could be happy was to be the thought does not need everything for you. Get away as fast as the wind carries you, that erases the memory.

Just you and me what we have felt, you wanted to have crawled I have defied that died without dying. That voice kills me that there is nothing left go of the mind go and please come back only if the story and not want to change.

(AM)

Numb Leg After Accident

I

Today, it is Irene who eats the world, although not ever lose the habit of living with a time delay. With his backpack or loaded the way to the institute is eternal, and on top of your hair seems determined to become entangled in the strong autumn wind. Hundreds of leaves on the ground and one day will fall. Irene through the carpet, convinced that she has expressly been made to further delay its arrival. Then sit on your feet and immediately, in your ears, the rustle of dry leaves under a footprint. I can smell the cold, mixed with that of trees without getting naked modesty at the sight of all. Think about that when the rest will go to the street that leads directly to open the highway, a lonely street, where the seasons play with hair and with feelings of love.

(Ainoa Marco de la Torre)