Funny Wedding Invitation Wo

No makeup for me,
Street lights, tonight ...
that watched, eyes,
Both face, my true!
No makeup for me
For you, think again ...
What this man is a man ... Not your
rare beast!

A further look at the doors, to check carefully that they are still tight.

(What I then I of meticulous, I've always walked on without regard to who I was as well?)

Theatre is a theater not even now if there will be a representation.

No music.

No light.

Silence.

to hear if the put on the steps of thought,

sull'assito not break the stage and make it squeak,

as he had done,

front of open mouths, amazed and pleased without knowing why.

The drapes on the gallery are lost in the darkness of the room,

property,

as if time had stopped,

to make room for this representation form.

Clumsy attempt by strolling player,

unable to dress this role,

working on a script,

improvise when it has always been my prerogative.

But tonight we will have a monologue,

both the plaintiff and the public.

A single person who wears two roles

that the speaker and the listener to silence.

Like a sword swallower, I let down a knife inside of me,

to the bottom,

where you do not need keys.

Beyond Hell.

Where can I get it just me,

because I can share my essence,

but it remains my

e quando si perde la cognizione di averla,

rimbalzano sulla pelle le parole di chi ti ricorda come eri

e fa male pensare che è come sei,

eppure non riesci a rivederti.

Scendo sul filo della lama attraverso me stesso,

scrollando da me il sangue che stilla al taglio del passaggio,

su specchi che non riflettono nulla,

neppure le ombre silenti e rabbiose.

And from behind the door on the wall I hear the distant laughter of mockery of those who have waited for this moment

not reflect the reality in which I have not wanted to immerse myself,

losing the knowledge of being

yet they are.

Oren Holding down the bottom because it does not while

closed in the woods that I miss,

suspended over the sound of the song of a cricket,

fading the colors of my rainbow,

chasing vague glow that reflected the dark.

Black, not Nero_Catrame

is the absence of color,

the spirit that has always animated,

the sure-footed on cutting blades,

the courage to look at them,

irreverent smile when cutting.

I can not reach out to retrieve them.

I'm going to take to find myself.