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Apocalypse scent in the air travel

is heard your scent in the air travel:
're the only one smile at a funeral,
the last sip in the bottom of the bag, the sweet caress
and dagger.

And as I tear the pain
and I drown in your frost away,
your every shot is for me like a wilted flower
perhaps, but the only important one. How

blow on the flame burning
to see it shine as before
were blazing with the risk and devour you, well built

qualuqnue blow your
and tight to the hope of a top
breath love these flowers

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Gabbiano

night With the eyes of every shadow has your face, and every sigh in the dark

has your warm voice.
My thoughts, sailors, rowing against
:
seguon only stars among all stars and

follow you.

And even that gull flies

and tells me about you from afar.

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I see nothing but silence

I see nothing but silence,
shadow in the night of what was thought daring
cowards
that escape the logic of doing.
not feel that a perfume
s'appassisce and everything else like flowers
decadent
die from the damp
that made them rich.

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Kiss me not to breathe again

quest'acre storm, waiting for the dawn


in the sweet dream that we always remain .

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scale the heights

scale the heights
more prickly and pointed
wanting the sea

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Vivona

Vivona buying
bitter sweeteners
and die soon

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As the hamster

As the hamster
vapor their pursuits for the short run
world.

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Droste

No more pen keyboard
but my fingers touching
van and the muse is more sincere
memories surfacing, like flowers in spring

his lips I'm tasting.
And with her here beside me
I tell you this song.

was an decadent world of greedy
fact lies
sopir for all people.
Fosser'uomini or carrion
differivan
of a blow as rats in the sewers. And who yearns
p'un smile
most can not do a good face.

put to sea to escape,
to forget my past,

to be able to deny all that I had been.
But I found my way
my shadow and its work, and the bow
the rising sun
rivolgei sadly.

As the pig in the pen:
after days of battle, to end up giving up

and the door no longer throws. His soul
s'estinto
to emulate this rabble.
donates food to a wild animal will
and forgetting the forest.

As Erasmus Dutch, de
them crazy fan, I realize I

several times that if the wise man more,
not so clever it will grow in
made after dawn.
and old fools and infants
we listen to the cries.

Sol and what are not grateful unto me, yet I am saddened
:
thousand voices without a sword not
St. more open track
and perish in the street,
that nothing is little. It hopes
appassiscon
contemplating these dances.

Two mirrors are observed
worlds are similar, in the middle
dreams
paddling like demons among the saints.
forces soon fade

because the seas are many but among them all the same, are
butterflies without wings.

I can only hope to break some glass
,

learn to fly and leave everything behind;
My muse
embrace and brighten a dark world.
perhaps be no deception
like crazy and what they do.