In the illusion of the one day lights
In the illusion of the one day lights. Who never will not come to awake. Dust of our love. Are erased on an old parchment. Forgotten letters. Of a text without end. That a tired eagle for always. Carry the memory. Our words damaging itself to make use of it. Aligning itself on a yellowed sheet. That time has ravaged. Attenuating the out-of-date wound. Our forever hidden lives. In the tanned skin of pages. Not wise enough. Not to expose itself. With the bites of the single truth. We died not to tell more. On the blank sheets of our book. Our sad and beautiful hours. Who are added and got drunk. In the lapse of memory rebels. To erase our last traces. In spidery scrawl. On the blank sheet. Cruel abandonment which touches. To leave us only erosion. Our overflowings for speech.
Lire la suiteIn lack of your deadened unhappiness.
In front of the yellowed photograph of our fled memories. I remain in lack of your deadened unhappiness. In the dream of this past which I cannot erase. I wander after the glare of our lives. In fight against these mornings which give birth to our lapses of memory. Leaving my memory alone vis-a-vis wear, the madness. Your absence is there. Leaving me only that. To recall me of you. Without ground, nor shovel to fill this infinite vacuum. I lose the faith. In us, me. Killing this lie to make future a truth. Where we could find ourselves. I do not want to imagine any more. To manufacture a copy of the past. To make as if it were true. Of a lie invented to advance. I cannot derive any more. Acceptor more to cross you. More to hear you. Little by little, I leave the meanders. Days spent to confuse the life, death. Seeking to link them in this impossible marriage. Who made ego a fossil. I you want some to have given up me. Drawing from this false hatred the force to raise me. Cheating with my feelings. Our feelings. I advance slowly. With the desire for turning over me. Precipitately. With the first noises of the past. Furiously. With the soft images of our old years. Because I cannot deny it. To have loved you to burst some. However, I am there upright. Without you. With knees in front of this hole. Where there is nothing any more but mud. Who goes up until me. Coming to cover the photograph yellowed with our fled memories. In the silence of the lapse of memory. I remain in lack of your deadened unhappiness.
Lire la suiteThe direction of your absence
Does there exist a direction with your absence? If it is not the scar of a long suffering… The complaint of the wind, crackings, howls. These evenings of storm come to attack us. Striking their sharpened blades our silences. In which we had intertwined. Drawing our petrol there. To love us in the nest soft of our sins. Made drunk of the adulterated alcohol of our excesses. Far from all, world, of this bad wind. Who had transported us beyond our prejudices. Giving up us in this immured passion. Going until the extreme of this line traced on the horizon. Where our lives would be nothing any more but insanity. Sinking in the storm of our shivers. Dripping venom in unison. Of these pearls of day dying on the sleep of our nights. Coffin where we finished. Having forgotten to give a heart to our lives. Used to have lost the blood of our hopes. Manufacturing the wandering of a long suffering. Scar giving the direction of your absence.
Lire la suiteA blade following day
In the choking vapors one morning of blade following day. On the grids of your heart the skin of my hand was torn off. Opening of your hoop net outdistances. Nourished of a total unconcern. Ridge of your smiles, your whims equipped with this factitious charm. Carrying me until the torment. Born from your absence. Lived like an offense. Torturing these last moments. Where free we crossed the grids of your heart. Carried by the opium of our shared passion. To the doors of this residence. That today I see covered veil of misfortune. Floating in the choking vapors one morning of blade following day. Assemble in me the regret to be at the end. Of an intoxication leaving me the bitter taste. To leave the alcohol of the confusion of the directions. For the single pain to be on the ground. Without the least chance. To be able to penetrate on other side. Of this grid placed between us forever.
Lire la suiteIts last breaths of life.
The tears of a bad time cry. Where the heart empties came to be given up. On the sand of the lapse of memory eternal. Emaciated by the passion wind. Of a cruel fate. Sink in the rest of a quartered death. By the fusional waves. Last crossings. Ranges by the warlike breath. Of a stem rebels. Disappear the strong body from the conqueror. For the skeleton broken up of one dying. The tears of a bad time cry. Where very stopped. In the final adoption of time. Interruption of the moment. Gravity of the moment. On a virgin ground of hope. Beaten by the tides of the morning and the evening. In the atrocious torsion of last forces. Throbbing complaints of the bark. Of a hull putrefying under the slow anguish. Of its last breaths of life.
Lire la suiteMy sorrow
On the thin wire of our lost illusions. Passes in creepage distance. A cursed galley. Crossing the tears of the day. In the waves of a sea. Our love drowns. Damages by the shade of this mystery which put to us on the ground. Radiate the lapse of memory of a radiant sun. I lie you, I can it. Remain to me only this artifice. Like ultimate whim. To believe, dream, hope, play of words. Dancing on the agreements of a piano. To charm you. To lead you on the cursed galley. Sailing on impossible seas with the flexible waves. To slip, vibrate, like. To like. To forget, erase. To wish oneself. All to start again. If you want it? The question burns my lips. I am feverish. Intoxication of a capricious body. Damaged by the insane chisel of a goldsmith. On the table of a languorous obscure light. Without regards for the disillusioned feelings of former lovers. Crossing the tears of the day. Without getting dressed. Empty tears of love. Falling on them scattered. On the cursed galley. Who each day returns. I will take you along. I would speak to you about this world where we would be well. I would seek to break fate. Of having to convince you. But, I do not know any more if I want it. Does my body want to still overcome? The weight of the years, the lassitude of your rejections. Only, I will go. Yes, only, I will go. To sail on the cursed galley. Against the wind. Without sailor, nor captain. With the salt of the escape. Like sabres at the end of the teeth. With the ultimate goal drowning my sorrow.
Lire la suite
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
