To write words, fantasies are poetry, what if you don’t know, if I lost faith. Hatred, hatred to the torture of being, of mine that has that support it all. Hate, feeling that leads to the sea, disturbing and no raison d ‘ etre. More with reason you have, when it comes to light that they don’t see. Hatred, dark blue pond fountain, that gross am, only to see them, so concentrated in evil. I hate that I run through the veins, coming out of my pores.

I hate that enters and leaves my heart, who will not let me sleep in peace, and however, I am the that I am. Hatred, infinite disturbance having with what reason. Hatred, bad feeling that leaves its mark, of which I want to escape, which keeps me in peace. Hatred, feelings of anger, of desolation, of the infinite desire to see how it disappears to be hated, and there are so many many beings who hate, and rightly what hatred that removes the joy, associated ideas and wondered why?. Hatred, which is like a mask, reflected in the face, that sprouts cheeks when everything shuts down. Hatred, that I don’t want to die, most my death wish. Want it those hated by me, who know him eternally.

Never answer for them, for me nothing are slipping into an arena without sun. Doing a comparison, after so many years, I thought my luck was not all bad, I’ve been happy. All the evils which came me, went well, a great good. I will tell you the secret of happiness: is in the small things, who look for it, you will find it. Is in the light of the Sun, in the contemplation of the alba, in the rivers that run through the mountains, in the singing of a bird, the Meow of a cat, is with you.