In you, was written the fatal screen
The pearls of blood roll on the ground. With one in the unslung ball of an orchestra without partition. Scattering like the insane ones. Dancing the saraband of our abandonment. Eaten by your demons. Hung at the end of a cord tended to hang to you. Without pity at the moment to complete you after you to have devoured. You could not understand. In you, the evil slept. Insidious of the animal coiling itself in the contaminated internal organs of your insanity. In you, was written the fatal screen. Of a rupture poisoning our connection. Absorbed in the depths of an insipid torpor. Anaesthetized by the venom of your malignant. Papering your thought of their dreams unfinished, impossible to consume. Drawing aside us one of the other to us to quarter. A tear with the taste of rupture. Breaking the symbols of our culture. Ridge of complicity, relativity on standby of a perfect world. Idea given birth to in the one night dreams of summer. Passed to dream, to embrace themselves. Evaporating in the heat wave your to rough-hew where your madness wished that you burn yourself. You succumbed to the facility. Temptation. Of an easy smile in one moment of desire. Forgetting cement of our relation. You lost yourself. Setting with naked. Crying a completed past. In the middle of a crowd of devils to the forked languages. Scandalmonger on your untimely sensitivity. Why will I save you? By pity. Of you? Of me? That would not have any direction. I think it. In you, the evil slept. Insidious of the animal coiling itself in the contaminated internal organs of your insanity. In you, was written the fatal screen. Of our history that in future the person will not mention, will not listen. Too Much pathetic, if evil. Hung at the end of a cord, thrown in the false commune of forgotten feelings. Fissure leaving this insidious trace to the taste of flaring. Just good to be burned in the ashtray of what was the idea of a couple which liked.
Lire la suiteThe circle of time
Struck whirling wind come from slownesses of time. So far the memory cannot know any more. So near that one can see more. Knocked at any hour on the world and its roundnesses. Flee the impassive sky with the morbid clouds. Escape honey from our lives around the circle of time. Whirling in a stammering of memories. Ultimate dreams of our last oaths. Pivots for kasher our miseries. Not to die. Stupidly, plugged, carried by the wind. Traversed our blades sighs. Testifying that one breathes. Affirming that one can conquer. Time and wind. Hugging in a yoke of feelings. Impotent to extract the sap and blood from it. Running around the circle of time. Labyrinth in which one evokes a firmament. To make seeming. To be content. Disabused. To avoid being corrosive. Without listening. To knock the hours fleeing. Not being able to stop them. Too much quickly carried by this wind. Sweeping emerged surface. Our accidents. Flee the impassive sky with the morbid clouds. Escape honey from our lives around the circle of time. Ultimate combat of each day. To gain a new turn. In the large magic horse-gear. Where we all are plunged. Swimming. Not to drown. Suffocating. To avoid running. Under the vague heinous one of time. Slapping impertinence to believe in eternity. This whole never. Or with this adulterated idea. Getting drunk of the alcohol of so many missed days. That one can cut down. So easily. Scalpel of the lapse of memory. Magic of a tool. Who equips the beautiful one and the ugly one with false clothes. Factitious decoration hiding the slow beat of a guillotine putting rhythm into the pulsations of time. Cutting heads falling while impaling itself in the disastrous circle years.
Lire la suiteLe cercle funeste de ans
Frappé du vent tourbillonnant venu des lenteurs du temps. Si loin que la mémoire ne peut plus savoir. Si proche que l’on ne peut plus voir. Cogné à toute heure sur le monde et ses rondeurs. Fuis le ciel impavide aux nuages morbides. S’échappe le miel de nos vies autour du cercle du temps. Tourbillonnant dans un balbutiement de souvenirs. Ultimes chimères de nos derniers serments. Pirouette pour cacher nos misères. De ne pas mourir. Stupidement, aveuglés, emportés par le vent. Parcouru de nos pales soupirs. Témoignant que l’on respire. Affirmant que l’on peut conquérir. Le temps et le vent. Les étreignant dans un carcan de sentiments. Impuissant pour en extraire la sève et le sang. Coulant autour du cercle du temps. Labyrinthe dans lequel on évoque un firmament. Pour faire semblant. D’être content. Désabusé. Pour éviter d’être mordant. Sans écouter. Cogner les heures s’enfuyant. Ne pouvant les stopper. Trop vite emportées par ce vent. Balayant la surface émergée. De nos accidents. Fuis le ciel impavide aux nuages morbides. S’échappe le miel de nos vies autour du cercle du temps. Combat ultime de chaque jour. Pour gagner un nouveau tour. Dans le grand manège enchanté. Où nous sommes tous plongés. Nageant. Pour ne pas se noyer. Suffoquant. Pour éviter de couler. Sous la vague scélérate du temps. Giflant l’impertinence de croire en l’éternité. A ce tout jamais. A cette idée frelatée. S’enivrant de l’alcool de tant de journées ratées. Que l’on peut amputer. Si facilement. Du scalpel de l’oubli. Magie d’un outil. Qui habille le beau et le laid de faux habits. Décor factice cachant le lent battement d’une guillotine rythmant les pulsations du temps. Coupant des têtes tombant en s’empalant dans le cercle funeste des ans.
Lire la suiteTo remain or flee ?
To remain or flee ? Vis-a-vis your glance ready to like or betray. Preaching truth or the forgery in the softness of your eyes. Where a share of tenderness dozes assassinates which will slip between us two. To believe in you in the point of very giving you of a languorous caress. Before did not leave your claws a painful slap. To remain or flee? To carry by the defect to play with all your whims. Evasive mouse running stripped in near. So near to you that she does not see herself, escaped in his daydream. I like your mysterious, bitter glance. Killing the opened mouth, sharp-edged hooks what likes you. Playing the partition of nice to hum. To better do itself to like. Drowning its share of shade in eyes in love. Escaping to the skies. Crying of the tears the unhappy one. From the top of summits. Watching for the occasion of a new crime. With the ambiguity of this question. To remain or flee? Beyond any reason. You who will never change. See in your eyes the bad glance which you cannot make up. Loan to be liked or betray. You lie as you breathe. However, I like your marvellous, languorous glance. Where a lack of truth hides. Masked by the silence of your absences. Drowned in the large park of the shades where stretch themselves all your nights. Tinted basked in the sun dark images of cries. With the taste salted of your victims on the white of your hooks in a slow anguish. I like this idea of your kindness, you it bad. I have a reason. Going until forgiveness. Finding in your eyes. The force nothing to require them.
Lire la suiteRester ou s’enfuir ?
Rester ou s’enfuir ? Face à ton regard prêt à aimer ou à trahir. Prônant le vrai ou le faux dans la douceur de tes yeux. Où sommeille une part de tendresse assassine qui se glissera entre nous deux. Croire en toi au point de tout te donner d’une caresse langoureuse. Avant que ne sorte de tes griffes une gifle douloureuse. Rester ou s’enfuir ? Porter par le vice de jouer avec tous tes caprices. Souris évasive courant dénudée dans les près. Si proche de toi qu’elle ne te voit, évadée dans son rêve éveillée. J’aime ton regard mystérieux, fielleux. Tuant la gueule ouverte, les crocs acérés ce qui te plaît. Jouant la partition du gentil pour ronronner. Mieux se faire aimer. Noyant sa part d’ombre dans des yeux amoureux. S’évadant jusqu’aux cieux. Pleurant des larmes de malheureux. Du haut des cimes. Guettant l’occasion d’un nouveau crime. Avec l’ambiguïté de cette question. Rester ou s’enfuir ? Au delà de toute raison. Toi qui ne changera jamais. Voir dans tes yeux le regard mauvais que tu ne peux maquiller. Prêt à aimer ou à trahir. Tu mens comme tu respires. Pourtant, j’aime ton regard merveilleux, langoureux. Où se cache un manque de vérité. Masqué par le silence de tes absences. Noyé dans le grand parc des ombres où s’étirent toutes tes nuits. Teintées d’images sombres lézardées de cris. Au goût salé de tes victimes saignant sur le blanc de tes crocs dans une lente agonie. J’aime cette idée de bonté, toi le mauvais. Je me fais une raison. Allant jusqu’au pardon. Trouvant dans tes yeux. La force de ne rien attendre d’eux.
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
