(criminal thoughts)
let’s see, counting from time to time, i get used to the boring things in life, with a gun in one hand & a knife on the other one, is just an ilusion, is a total fantasy, nothing compare, to what i used to feel, or thing that i desire…..is just time, that goes & comes, and sometimes i don’t know why, we rather live than die, but the feeling keeps growing….those are my first thoughts on another language apart from the main latin that i used to speak, but as different that, that may seen, it is still the same shit, the same pain, my ear are bleeding, i see the light, but my hand can’t reach, ’cause i’m just fucking falling apart….apart from the things that make me the man, that someone one time used to love, but now, hate so much……that’s how depresion feel, with a gun in one hand, pointing at you’re brain, & a knife in the other, ripping just whrist, & bleeding, as if you were crying, crying for something that it wasn’t meant to be….algo que dejaste perder, cuando solo vos pudiste salvar mi vida……1

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