How Long Does The Panasonic Lumix Battery Last

Reading, Love, Writing and Dying

"Man builds houses but is alive because he writes books because one fatal.
lives in a group because it is gregarious, but because we only know the law.
Reading for him is a company that takes the place of any other, but
that no other could replace. "

[ Daniel Pennac ]

Pain In Chest Weh I Laugh

November

March is spring,
the fresh air of morning
March is the rain on the nose,
a smile and a new hope
March Almost blue, smoke and wind socks
read
March is the way,
heady scents of leaves and old,
I look in the mirror,
March pats her hair uncombed and bond

a tear down the wrinkles,
adage fingers on the floor, basically I'm just a
November
yet there is no life for me,
November.

Letter Of Confirmation As Volunteer

And they call Spleen

I pulled up the net from Lethe
and found entangled
Cola cans and wet dreams, so I took the good cider

inhaling through the nostrils dreams and lies. I saw

turnip head of the Universe,
libraries for breakfast,
teachers, servants, and loves people,
really cried, but only for
dream over a cup of hot tea,
spleen and calls ...

I hate hot tea,
especially in summer, sipping
as if it were winter,
who wants snow in summer:
who only wants to love forever,

But I suffer and cry I feel, I cry inside
sheets and bread,
of sadness that blows from the outside, from
holes, holes, lumps,
drafts of wind that cut the heart, spleen
and calls ...

I hate colds,
especially in summer,
blowing her nose as if you had to do,
who wants to get dirty handkerchief of his sins
only those with black mucus,
mitral Assens (zi) or

I laugh and think I slam my fists, knuckles
purple of fever and salt,
violence swirling or die,
love, places, wood
small air pockets that sew the atria,
spleen and call it ...

I hate heights, especially when I jump
,
lost in the air, I will not fly!
who wants my blood on his hands:
only the walls, diamonds that have no words.

I tremble and gnash their teeth for hours
I'm afraid of the cold, the eyes, the color of the sea, or
slew of innocence that you care about,
tomorrow, we few, wet and sick, empty of rage that split
patios,
spleen and call it ...

I hate the cold, especially in winter
,
s'avesse clutching his chest as if to love, who wants
my eyes looking at the sea:
's disease, a madman who must be silent ... And you call

spleen!

Everyone wants to just talk,
say that everyone wants to say,
goes well, and both come
children
teach you a good game, we'll call
spleen.