One night, a taste of rain. Lights, shades. A lack of desire. Very which sinks. Without being able to catch up with themselves, just release. A force come besides. Who worries, who frightens. I do not know any more. I cannot any more. A vague memory. The heart which digresses. Wings of a corbel. Black luisantes. All up there. The radiant moon. My steps which trail; insolente lazes. I would like to take your hand. To tighten. To reassure Me. I am alone. With this taste of rain. On my lips, my mouth. The eyes which are closed, I fall asleep. At the edge of the dream, so near to your body. I can imagine it. Touch. Of my hands of blind men. My remorses which plug me. Pouring floods of regrets. The images which are scrambled. Loneliness for pity. The heart which is soiled. Phantoms of the past. Wandering in the forgotten castle. That we deserted. Without managing to find us. I am nothing any more. Without country, shelter. I miss your hand. To leave the labyrinth. My tears are not pretended. You could forgive me. If you wished it. I do not dare you to ask it. You that I gave up. In a recess of my memory. Did you only exist? So Many things were unobtrusive.
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
