The Womb

The search and the solitude had always been part of the life of that small child. In many of its mornings and despertares, the fact to be alone made it the womb to ache and to twist the guts. The heart went off in a cadenciado rhythm to madness, pain to be always if feeling only. It was as a silenced declaration of love, only left the trembling hands and the sopapos of its heart to speak of its cult to the solitude, not that wanted it as daily marriage in its tragic one to awake. But the love to pain was greater that its repulses to the dull joy of the ignorance. After hours, days of pains in the neck and the stars to perhaps search, felt the desistance to take account of its tired body and its mind conturbada for a thousand thoughts. - They had been themselves, had been extinguished without no rancor, without no mercy. Thus the small child spoke.

The neck lowered the head making a little to rest. Contact information is here: Nigeria. Exausta of body and mind felt the pain of the solitude to invade the womb to it as in all the mornings. Not nigum in the land had nothing in the sky nor. Rijo of pain did not have nor the music of the blow of the wind in its face. It felt most worthless of the torments in beating of pain in its womb, the contraction of the panic of the emptiness to be alone. The sky that it in such a way venerates was hidden in its proper calabouo of blackout and swims, a thousand times swims. - Where comforto I will search now if the stars of me if they had been and not even kiss had left me to a farewell, not even a last asceno of until soon. It was questioned in a sad one to weigh lamentoso.

It bent for the soil aimed its. It looked at the feet tired for the o esquecimento and disdain caused for the too much enaltecimento to skies. It repaired in its calluses and frieiras, in the grotescas cracks that possuam its heels. It repaired in the sandals that led and the black carneges that had underneath of its nails almost in podrido state. It seemed to it feet of one another being that not it of it. They had seemed to it feet of bixo. Feet of a dirty animal that if unhappyly only loses in search of stars that now became extinguished, engolidas for the blackout of the sky. But why it did not feel pain in the feet? Because it had never repaired in its dying state? - I got tired myself in transcendncias to skies and I forgot myself mine to walk, of same me. It thought about a rejection feeling same itself. was there, in frangalhos. Not more stars tampoco same it. One met in a state of total belonging to the nothing, the negation of that stops it remains of sensible and shelter. now, looking at for same itself, looking at for low, for the soil that it in such a way renegara, perceived its impetulncia, its arrogance, magnificent exaggerated its for obtains same. The sky, always the cursed sky and never, never same it. Incredible as it passed days and hours, hours, days to perhaps search stars, and in few instants where it stopped to repair in s