Monday, February 27, 2006

Take care of nobody.

You thrust your wet eyes at me like a handgun.
As a sharp look, you begin confession intensely calmly.

You whom "I always stab a child in a heart,
and a halter does an adult, and do an old man for burning to death" say to saying and look down.

I can come to say nothing.
As for me, you do not need to go the way me want it to.

Irritation is more better than the boredom that a yawn is over.
Give more us stimulation.

Show your real face which I do not know.
I take your true figure in any kind of thing with pleasure.

You say.
You whom
"you seem to hate several times than me, and is cruel whimsically"
fall silence again after saying what wants to say.
I can come to say nothing again.
We reveal the real intention sometime and should be able to still love.

But I continue hiding my true intention with timidity than you.
I am dressed in Kool which I kept up, and I demand the true intention from only you one-sidedly.

I should not go just as you want.
The truth may not be good.
A fiction may be happy.
I want to know so all of you.

Because I already have all known that you are beautiful, show the part that you are dirty to me.

If you give me it, I will submit to both the pressure and boredom with pleasure.

I do not take care of you.
Your dirt is beautiful.
Your spell sounds like prayer.

OK, give me all of you.
Though you hide all, as for me, you begin to bleach all.

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