The anger that bites me, the anger that follows me, the anger that follows me and it hurts because it falls just rough drafts. It 'just fight for what you want, because it makes you desire things get under your skin, it does not matter if the result is, it only matters how you get wheels. Even the dress seems tailor-made experience, but because only those around you seem to have things and you can loose in the facility and to achieve the same happiness you always have to lift weights too large to climb walls of which the end is the same as the reflection of the sun? Why this anger mounts in a sunny day in which all the colors have a good mood, in which the rains just seem strange memories, perhaps if someone has invented. Just anger and rage, which encloses the stomach, which makes you a bad day with everything and everyone, that takes away the desire to do things, that takes away the spirit of "ok, go." But so much is just a mix bitumen with the ugly thoughts that become black feathers that are not low-cut more ... Meanwhile, I look to the horizon and do not see it. Damn contraption of metal deceive me close, I want to be the magic wand, what I would like to take me back to days or even weeks later, just to get this down time, in which there is no wind to power, there is no flower for butterflies, there is no sound in the wind. Just anger, because the distance can easily mix, can make you live, but if it is capricious know hurt you. Anger, like a train that choose not to have more tracks and, thanks to its speed without rules or limits, you know just go ahead, the impact ready with a smile, ready to loud noises that generate more noise, humor and love . I try to cast venting anger all letters on this keyboard, since even cigarettes and the like make me more peace relegated taste it in my daily useless (thankfully). Anger that I try to defeat the illusion of being a cold shower on a hot day ... but if you do not help me with the words, but if you do not put smiles and props of suffering, how do you send away this anger? The gate? I close? Despairs of routine, easy despairs that close in a few hours of distraction, to count the hours and weeks before you arrive or before you get to me. Things change when you want it. Yes, it's true and believe it. But it is also the rule that things change when you can, when they decide want to be changed. E 'lontanza that takes my happiness of your outline, so sometime in the empty basket of my day is just anger.
L.
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