There was no way stopping him,
drunk with nostalgia.
A timeless creation of himself.
A growing and unconscious desire for pain has taken root in my diaphragm.
Discarded memories search my brain, surreptitiously,
like invisible shadows securing my every gesture on the retina of oblivion.
Smeared lipstick on fingernails.
Blood-stained feet. A left shoe.
That one there.
Or that one.
A feeling of guilt has gone astray through these thickets of pain.
A quest for beauty.
I thought you only had to move around to get rid of this fever.
I need more to put an end to it.
Emerging light dispels a bleeding moon.
The trees of the park stand out.
Black against the horizon.
Leaves tremble as they respond to the wind.
Camouflage Techniques for a big city.