none is the number

black is the colour

I feel like I will have to die soon. I feel so much, all the time, it doesn’t even make me tired anymore, but I am a bloated, overgrown world on the verge of collapsing into its own mass. This is why things die; when they tried to be every single thing at least once, everything except for nothingness.

Lose yourself. Unless you need it as your medium.

Your soul has a shadow, rare and ancient like a desert refuge. When I look into it, it seems so much like mine, and I’m scared I am casting it.

There are few simple rules to painting an apple, easy tricks. And yet every now and then an apple surprises you.

Time and eternity aren’t same. Time is just one of eternity’s faces, the one that faces us.

About the bridges; I pick the burnt ones.

Breath is like cat’s knife when every breath is in debt. You want to look away but you don’t, do you, not yet, you look behind the sun, take your time, behind stars, at the world, it’s just like you, did you see, like you made by chance that changed its mind and turned its back on it, leaving it in debt of every stellar pulse, wishing it to creep and hollow. And it didn’t, did you see, it didn’t, it grew so beautiful and strong in the infinite debt, that you, in awe, unintendedly, illegally, fool’s seed, you grew the debt of your own.

Appreciate every little journey, darling. Let it grow in your soul like mutated cell that overtakes the system. For in moving there’s a great opportunity of loosing and belonging to eternal orders of misplacements, like Isaac, when in moment of lucidity, he looked and saw.

Only birds, only birds when flying.