I have no words
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We are two
We are two to contemplate heavens. We are two. On the banks of a beach. In the heart of a mirage. Drawing the moon on a cloud sea. Tagging stars, twinkling. Unstable. Abolishing the borders. Looking in our cemetery. The strength to climb the stony wall. Lizards in the sun. Taken out of the sleep. Eternal. With the maternal image. Of fusional love. Reflection of this anxiety. Our hands tremble without trying to hide it. Our breath is jerky. Breathless. Our moon is dark. Made up by shadows. Our falling stars. We live on habits. Paralysing. Prelude of our dullness. We are two to contemplate heavens. We are two. To listen to beating the time. Spiders weave their paintings. We are lying about in fields. Looking in the daytime which comes to light. We walk slowly. Cockroaches haunt our walls. We watch at them running. Without wanting to see them dying. Our desires get out of breath. In the firmament of our melancholy. In the heart of a mirage. Drawing the moon on a cloud sea. They are black. In charge of rain. Flooding our lives. Under a lapping. Hopeless. We are two to contemplate heavens. We are two. To pretend. Another moment. Having lived on love alone. Now. If close to a wreck. The rough grass. Of our swamps taking hostage us. Stuck in our past. Incapable to eradicate it. We are two to contemplate heavens. We are two. Without succeeding in saying himself goodbye
Lire la suiteTo break free
A bar, a door, a wall, nothing will stop the desire. To cross barriers, to go to see to shine at night. Black, glittering, without cloud, without star. Just the smell, the liqueurs of our fears. To know that we are alive. Behind us, the infinity of the veil. Mold of our resentment. You and me, dressed in black. In the colors of the sky. Making in the daytime our evening. Nothing of really. We shall walk in the grass and the meadows. Farther at the end of the silence. Stealing the time. To dream. Firing at the sons of our melancholy. Our life. In small steps goes on the dance. A slow drift. Behind the wall, one night which makes drunk. Slowly by playing. With the smells, the liqueurs of our fears. Sat on another bank. The key is missing only. To open doors, escape. I believe, you believe in the miracles. Every day, every evening. A short history. Putting our life in show. Without heart, without spectator. Our labour. Tasteless, dull. You tell me disillusioned. I tell you erased. We have the pity to look. React, avoid hating. A bar, a door, a wall, nothing will stop the desire. To cross barriers, to go to see to shine at night.
Lire la suiteYou, us two, alive
Fowl and bewitching in the air releasing itself. I speak to you about my boredom. Silencer and capricious. I speak to you its slow movements. In the reflection of the mirror skipping. Imperceptibly. The breath of the air holding on to it. In waves of dusts. Haughty and proud. Farther than the day and at night. Being languishing to know only the infinity. In the deafening humming. Of the nothingness. Without remembering, the heart which expires. Unguardedly, empty which attracts. There always there. The look which nothing retains. My boredom runs away. Its inconstancies, its arrogance which are mine. I speak to you about him. Accompanying these fears which retain me. The noise, the shouts, a body numbed. The cold, the black, you. This presence so close to me. That I could touch. That I so often imagined. Sensual, wonderful. Release of the infinity of my boredom. Mindless, alive. You have no name. Awaken my attention. Wake my reason. Calling my rebellion. Breaking the chains of the fate. Sealed in the boredom of my opportunities. Wait without moving. Aspire without daring. Break the mirror of these evenings. Where bathes the black reflection. Of a time which cannot fade. I speak to you of forgetting it, of coming along. In a country where will fall asleep our boredom. This evening, I dreamed about infinity. You, us two, alive.
Lire la suiteInfinity
The dead soul of a fainted hope. Steal ruler on the petals of darkened flowers. Haunt the catacombs of a gobbled up castle. Grave in the well of an infinite space. Re-appears haughty in the reflection of a tarnished brightness. Spining on the arms of a cleared shroud. Causing eddies, wave inaboutis. Of a body getting up towards a dazzled sun. Before falling again into the mud buried. On your face pearl rainy tears. I hear in trees the wind which shivers. On us wind the night fears. We go towards the buried cemetery. Where the dead soul of a fainted hope rests. It accompanies us, unites us. Dressed in the rags of our boredom. Deep, caustic, mindless. I believe, I want for us the infinity. Roam on the bruised moors. Assail the jungles of our ill-feelings. With love for therapy. It has go of our survival there. This strength which spatters. With the violence of a symphony. We shall sit. In front of a grave in the stunted herbs. Where slumbers the dead soul of a fainted hope. Sensitive, fusional, numb. She reminds me this infinity. Where the faded rose petals fall as a last oversight.
Lire la suiteFracture
There is a fracture, a word which suffers, a look which endures. The veil of demonized eternity. Where our troubles were stronger than us. In the time continues the pain not to know any more. Understand, wait, receive. Running on the moor as crazy. Lies, quarrels, eternal fights. I do not know any more. I do not seize any more. Where. The wind, the snow of our agonies got lost. There is this soft dream. To watch extinguishing the day fire. I cry by seeing at night arriving. It) carries the hope of dark slowness. Of the shaky body of our love. Running away on the moor in slow movements. Carried by the wings of black butterflies planning their shadows. On the salt and the honey. Of our rags. Scarecrows in ravens. In the big wheatfield which we wanted to grow. For our misfortune, the offspring to have got lost. When, I do not know more? Near a cemetery. Where we put us our illusions in beer. I forgot, I do not want any more. Run after these images of past. Made up by despairs, tinged with this adulterated taste. Not to believe any more. Not to know. That we were alive. Contacting, being amazed. My heart carries this pain. Locked into the crypt of my melancholy. I want to think that you share it. Otherwise, you would have lied to me. Taken hostage my passion. I cannot imagine it. For heaps of reasons. The first one has the smell of the blood of your hooks. In my skin, in my soul crashed. The second is this obsession. To try to find you. I roam in labyrinth of my hell. In addiction of your image. For ever without division. I imagine you witch in the stony heart. Been infinitely in love grey turtledove. I find only the space, the despair, the silence. Without knowing, without understanding the moment. Where we imperceptibly quartered. There is a fracture, a word which suffers, a look which endures. The veil of demonized eternity. Where our troubles were stronger than us. The memory of the whole falls asleep. The night is there so that get up the ghosts. The werewolves. Guarding the dome. Where. My dreams built the mausoleum of your memory. Later the day will be imperative the black. Absolved where lack in my touch your face. Its curves, its inflections, the furrows of your age. Blind person I have only an imagination which goes out. Taken on the ending night. In a day furthermore without you. I hope, I believe. That tomorrow. The fracture with cracks will fill. Sowed behind me. Tracks of the lack of you. A fear. An honor. The breath of eternity. Which sinks into the darkness. Irreparably. For ever.
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J'aime ce qui est gothique, ce qui est romantique, je vous présente mes textes et mes photos. I like what is gothic, what is romantic, I present my texts and photos Steffan Urell
