Voici les mots anglo-saxons qui se couchaient entre mes maux et le do en fin de soirée et après ces longs mois de silence...
Femmes de ce monde, survivantes et survivants trouvez de doux moyens pour ne pas laisser cette poignante méchanceté autour de vous vous briser. Voici les mots anglo-saxons qui se couchaient entre mes maux et le do en fin de soirée et après ces longs mois de silence...
On my knees, I was facing the brownish and rough closed sofa bed. It sat under the very but only small sticky opening in an improvised renting space plot by a very dirty landlord. The room was humid, cold, had a stained ceiling and a venerable carpet. Accessible only at the end of an asphalted corridor, it had one way in or out.
In this moonless corner of life between gigs, daily I gambled with fate and danced to vaporous pleasures. At times, like a crawling cupcake on the floor, I swam towards some lustrous four legs creature in the middle of the room. A singular low mirrored surface where the half-filled flasks stood straight and the persuading needle awaits. But there was always striking kindness reaching for my lonely hand before tightening the slinky rope.
Swearing then praying to God, again, again and again, in thickening veins my imploding existence was surfing through bitterly cold winters. With every crystallized drop of hope, black powder continued to frost my hell until my blushed eyes and cradled brain witnessed my holly body paralyzed in the carpet's growing tentacles.
Once upon a time these were the cursed moments holding my destiny stiffened on a silenced plasma as cold as gold...