I hate you. Only at times when you want me, think I love you too. But it is false. I hate your name and blasphemous. I spit on your grave. Damn your offspring and progeny, if they were different. I pretend I love you because a book convinced me that revenge is always insider, that revenge in which you kill a guy on the supermarket is banal, quick and sophisticated.
I want to fall in love, tell you I love you, travel to Brazil and get drunk every day, take an afternoon of rain, shared spaces of the library, introduce you to my family, I present to you, that eat ice cream while watching a Scorsese film or Truffaut, make coffee in the morning and not talk for two hours, tell me your day at work, pack and go, go out and we play on the computer that will surely lose against All-Star the rest of the world, and that we we would eventually you fall in love with me. There will probably kill you. Or do you make life impossible to be silent and only this face that I have perfected over the years. But it is more likely to kill you and then travel to Sonora, where he dies in a peyote trip.
Do you realize that when you give me ball you shitting me a fantastic plan?
I want to fall in love, tell you I love you, travel to Brazil and get drunk every day, take an afternoon of rain, shared spaces of the library, introduce you to my family, I present to you, that eat ice cream while watching a Scorsese film or Truffaut, make coffee in the morning and not talk for two hours, tell me your day at work, pack and go, go out and we play on the computer that will surely lose against All-Star the rest of the world, and that we we would eventually you fall in love with me. There will probably kill you. Or do you make life impossible to be silent and only this face that I have perfected over the years. But it is more likely to kill you and then travel to Sonora, where he dies in a peyote trip.
Do you realize that when you give me ball you shitting me a fantastic plan?
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