not expect me tonight. Take the two key
Sometimes
Turn the limelight,
Close the curtains at all,
azalea leaves in the cold.
Do not wait, neither awake nor asleep,
not heat my bedside,
be late ... and when I say later,
may be never.
Monday, February 28, 2011
Hot Feet At Night Lupus
Journal
not expect me tonight. Take the two key
Sometimes
Turn the limelight,
Close the curtains at all,
azalea leaves in the cold.
Do not wait, neither awake nor asleep,
not heat my bedside,
be late ... and when I say later,
may be never.
not expect me tonight. Take the two key
Sometimes
Turn the limelight,
Close the curtains at all,
azalea leaves in the cold.
Do not wait, neither awake nor asleep,
not heat my bedside,
be late ... and when I say later,
may be never.
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Movies That Appropriate For School
World Builder ... the builder of the world
The telltale mud stays in your clothes, nails and on the fringe, when it out of his forehead smeared the mud on the back of the hand.
Water ally in this struggle, he gets half of the land to fund the other half washed his restless eyes. Every evening
figures carefully stored in a box made of reeds and cattails that grow on the edge River.
no hurry, he is still very young and the world that builds only when you will need a man.
A illusions builders endorse no one, the makers of dreams, either, to children who tested a new life alone.
I know it is impossible to say that the light in the windows of mud, impossible for their trees to collect fruit mud, which in its squares and streets of mud will not sparrows.
will tell you that the sun shines little mud and poplars that lack the silver in its leaves, what good are the flowers of mud? say. Things
children. With your hands
man continued modeling auroras, parceled the sea, left friends and deleted words in a dictionary, opened the prison grew butterflies ...
winds and years until his world of mud slipped from her hands.
now lives surrounded by debris from the past and sometimes if you remove the fringe, souvenir smeared his forehead and was beyond the dreams at the same tears.
No, Alzheimer's disease do not let them play with the mud. 
The telltale mud stays in your clothes, nails and on the fringe, when it out of his forehead smeared the mud on the back of the hand.
Water ally in this struggle, he gets half of the land to fund the other half washed his restless eyes. Every evening
figures carefully stored in a box made of reeds and cattails that grow on the edge River.
no hurry, he is still very young and the world that builds only when you will need a man.
A illusions builders endorse no one, the makers of dreams, either, to children who tested a new life alone.
I know it is impossible to say that the light in the windows of mud, impossible for their trees to collect fruit mud, which in its squares and streets of mud will not sparrows.
will tell you that the sun shines little mud and poplars that lack the silver in its leaves, what good are the flowers of mud? say. Things
children. With your hands
man continued modeling auroras, parceled the sea, left friends and deleted words in a dictionary, opened the prison grew butterflies ...
winds and years until his world of mud slipped from her hands.
now lives surrounded by debris from the past and sometimes if you remove the fringe, souvenir smeared his forehead and was beyond the dreams at the same tears.
No, Alzheimer's disease do not let them play with the mud.
Saturday, February 19, 2011
What Product Is Good For Blemishes
voice cracks in a minute
hurts the sound of water, mud
exodus when your feet go.
It hurts the movement of the leaves without winter
the rope that ties you to the sunrise.
hurts rush your voice, your eyes vacuous,
fear, doubt, the usual.
I've got a true copy of your touch,
the nausea of \u200b\u200bthe time we undressed.
hurts the irregular stream of your blood, the cry
the truce, indifference.
hurts,
when
brimming bowls of wind over the crack without a voice of my misery. 
hurts the sound of water, mud
exodus when your feet go.
It hurts the movement of the leaves without winter
the rope that ties you to the sunrise.
hurts rush your voice, your eyes vacuous,
fear, doubt, the usual.
I've got a true copy of your touch,
the nausea of \u200b\u200bthe time we undressed.
hurts the irregular stream of your blood, the cry
the truce, indifference.
hurts,
when
brimming bowls of wind over the crack without a voice of my misery.
Monday, February 14, 2011
Windowblinds Monster Energy
This morning I called the Cadena SER, Madrid Sur ... It was a gift.
And here I am, won top prize in short story "Love in a minute"
My little story is this:
-The sound of silence
My hands are shaking as I seek the agenda stirred in my bag.
deposit the coins into the phone with the same fear and the same illusion of who throws the wishing well eagerly waiting to be fulfilled.
Two Tone ... three, five ... I close my eyes to hear his voice savoring every word.
I hope a touch of love on him, because I'm just the owner of his dream at the wrong time. Yes? Hello? Who is it?
Callo. I bite rabies
be "other."
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
Can Herpes Affect Pregnancy Tests
Love "Kiss" for the story on Thursday
every minute I look down from the wall clock.
the night, that market of dreams where love is put for sale,
opens wide and encouraged me to get you.
My hands, bowls of darkness, begging the light of your desire.
On the eve of the dawn bite your kiss to quench my thirst.
of cinnamon is the profile of your mouth.
drunk I breathe you taste the sea when you put butterflies on my lips honey.
do they know the kisses blue?
Sunrise on my pillow and I do not know how I will kiss of poppies. 
every minute I look down from the wall clock.
the night, that market of dreams where love is put for sale,
opens wide and encouraged me to get you.
My hands, bowls of darkness, begging the light of your desire.
On the eve of the dawn bite your kiss to quench my thirst.
of cinnamon is the profile of your mouth.
drunk I breathe you taste the sea when you put butterflies on my lips honey.
do they know the kisses blue?
Sunrise on my pillow and I do not know how I will kiss of poppies.
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
South Park Streaming Subtitle
Farewell
spurts. A silent story out between my fingers down my geography scandalous staining.
blood was never more free, never so hot trail gave me chills.
It's late.
The blade is stuck in the skin. Delve
painless turning away from these shores. Tomorrow, for the first time is you who scrub the floor and wash the clothes, and I do not mind if take my body as a hindrance.
sew your consciousness with the last thread of life for me is that happiness does not find even a crack to nest after I leave. 
spurts. A silent story out between my fingers down my geography scandalous staining.
blood was never more free, never so hot trail gave me chills.
It's late.
The blade is stuck in the skin. Delve
painless turning away from these shores. Tomorrow, for the first time is you who scrub the floor and wash the clothes, and I do not mind if take my body as a hindrance.
sew your consciousness with the last thread of life for me is that happiness does not find even a crack to nest after I leave.
Thursday, February 3, 2011
Velachery To Stella Mary's
This Thursday: "Judgement"
I was accused yesterday made you up.
But today, numbered steps,
uncontrollable light of the distance to the bitter
fingers caress
accuse you.
to condemn you my judge ink
my pieces, my leaves
disorderly
my ellipsis ...
And in a prison without lines, lock you down, forgotten and broken
inclement guardians of my indifference.
(now I leave you another kind of sentence)
"You are my serenity, which the sinner's conscience. In other words, a nuisance" 
I was accused yesterday made you up.
But today, numbered steps,
uncontrollable light of the distance to the bitter
fingers caress
accuse you.
to condemn you my judge ink
my pieces, my leaves
disorderly
my ellipsis ...
And in a prison without lines, lock you down, forgotten and broken
inclement guardians of my indifference.
(now I leave you another kind of sentence)
"You are my serenity, which the sinner's conscience. In other words, a nuisance"
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