Until death
Make laugh to me. Make suffer to me. Play of me to weaken about it. Enjoyed each day until your last sigh. I want to see you boiling. Of rage or pleasure. Since it is necessary to vomitting some or to curse me. Leave the window of your heart open. Your only future. Until dying about it. I am intransigent. One evening of festival. Accommodating in a beautiful apartment. Cold of the winter, the heat of the summer. Corrosive you. Chains of cobweb. Being spread out from the top of walls to the slats of the parquet floor. I never entered there. But me was told. The cruel death of an idea. That to like before being misled. At the point to throw itself on the paving stones to burst some. I know that you can play about it. Of a detached attitude. Even exaggerated. Make laugh to me. Make suffer to me. Play of me to weaken about it. Give me by making me believe that you can begin again. Without hesitating. For better withdrawing you. Later. When we are in the black. Without hope. To believe in it more. I do not want to see it. Leave the window of your heart open. I hate the storms. Do not make the head. It is thus. You say that it is small. And then? To love you am I wrong? You have remorses. To think that you cheeks with the fate. Make laugh to me. Make suffer to me. To love you I know that I am not wrong. Without remord. Until death.
Lire la suiteThe last morning
A mystery. Gravity of the air. Who surrounds us. We imprisons. To breathe. To exist. Not to choke more. To find air. To leave this mystery. Who dismays us. Low than covers over with soil. So near to the hell. To exist. To breathe. To touch itself. To tighten itself. To go up. Towards the sun. Who sparkles. Rebel. Behind. The barrier. Clouds. A mirage? Or is this the age? To believe in these dreams. Bitter notes. Of a detuned piano. By so much of years. To be struck, martyrized. Our aggravated fingers. Do not make us any more waltz. To breathe. To exist. Repeated. Y to think constantly. To maintain the mystery. Hell. Our old years. With the damaged bodies. With the light spirit. Choked. By our rusted carcasses. Incompetents to move. In gravity of the air. With the ground odor. Where we will lie. Without being gone behind. The barrier. Clouds. Where sparkles. This sun. Without similar. With the honey taste. To exist. To breathe. To still believe that one is true. Equipped with our cowardice. Who so often protected us. To conceal us. Not to assume. This morning. It is not used any more for nothing. It is the end. No more other following day ago. Right this last morning. In the mystery. Gravity of the too heavy air to breathe to exist.
Lire la suiteOur first secrecy
I gave you go in front of the statue. With the gotten mixed up bodies. With the exhausted heads. Under the disproportionate weight. Of an immoral being. Who did not generate himself. To splash you. Of its obscenity. All is exaggerated. The forgery, truth. The heavy one, the light one. You so fragile. You seem crushed. At side. Of this is delirious of body and animals. Until the end of the storm. Who gave birth to. Of this monster to the enlightened face. Asking to be carried. Not managing to move. Nor to even move. To overlap. An animal with its feet lowered. With diluted peeling. With the humiliated eyes. You remained to observe them. By far, I looked at you. I did not dare to advance. With what you did think? I did not wonder it. I saw that you smiled. I would never know. Until where the dream took you along. It is your property. I will not come to violate it. Nor even in speaking. Because I saw shining a star of your intimacy. That which you do not want to reveal. This statue slipped between us our first secrecy.
Lire la suiteThe diamonds of the day
I do not have the ability to retain diamonds of the day. Nor to be able to reverse the infinite return of the nights which extinguish our lights. To wait like always. To wait to re-examine your face to leave our misery. Us them hearts given up by the life. Who have only the trouble. To furnish their existence with phantom. Like kids. Without relative. Who trail themselves like wandering cats. Looking at. The slow sleep. Come to seize the alive ones. Closed eyes. Imagining. The benefit to dream. We are private. Forever. However. We did not forget. Front. When the evening us fermions doors and windows. Carefree men. Because breathing. Or perhaps. Candidate. Ad infinitum of a life. Ridges of lights, beautiful nights. Driving out. The trouble. It was yesterday. Today. There remains to us the prayer. To be able to retrogress. To be on the other side of the barrier. To close the eyes. To dream of us two. While knowing. That tomorrow. For this other morning. I will be able to offer diamonds of the day to you. For always.
Lire la suiteWords of love
Sat on the bench to look at the sea. Boats. The city. The clouds which are stretched. Languorously. I hear your melancholy. The delicate sound of the violins of your heart. Who cry not to know. Where goes time? That which is stretched in you. Depriving you. Of this joy which attaches you so much. Cutting down your life by imagination. For the benefit of this melancholy. Who pushes you to imagine that elsewhere. You will find happiness. But, it cannot live in you. The colors of your heart are gray. Incompetents to see the world differently. However. I tell you the opposite. I lie you. So that you hope. That my lie protects you. To put safe from the winter, of all these snows. Of all these chasms of which you could not raise you. I like your brittleness. The hot blood of your sensitivity. Being spread out over the carmine of your lips. That I like to embrace. That I want forever.
Lire la suiteThe first sun of the world rising.
I would like to remember me these words which made us shiver. Sat on the beach, in front of the foaming sea. To play to be made fear. Until the end of the night. Swept by the beam of the large white headlight. Being spread out over the sea of gray clouds. You saw there the trace of faces of the past. You told me their history. Ridges of soft words to the bitter tears. Whose lapse of memory erased the sound of their voices. There remains nothing any more but you. To make them speak. On the sky of a partition cherished by the sound watering of a languorous piano. There is also a violin which cries the loneliness of its trouble. We were well both. Joined, one with the other. Loans to be shivered. Under the cold wind come from the ocean. There was with far the boats which pitched. Dancing on the complaint of waves breaking while foaming. Your helping hand to retain them, carry them. In sand, end of the finger, I drew the face of your heart. If complex. Carved by tortures of your devils. Set ablaze in the heat of your passions. I shivered. Frightened. I was there too for that. To hear the howl of the wind. To Feel the face to burn by the sand punctures. To protect Me along you. To Like that. Without understanding. Without seeking to understand. Until the end of the night. Beyond the cold, sleep, of this inexorable fight against the numbness. I wanted to resist. At your sides. To see the first sun of the world rising. You promised to me that it was going to arrive.
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
