Vegetable Oil Prices Bulk

To a Young Poet infection

Where Are The Papers In Counterfeit Island

One night not enough for me to feel like slowly melting words will enter the bodies are living the way of my Ordinary Madness. There is a simple children's game, not the perfect sentence of intellectuals, is my thinking and sense-oriented unnecessary quilombos want to look through the anguish that involves us live.

I'm not afraid of ghosts, I learned to live with them, or rather they learned to live with me, as those images that refuse to disappear from the tables designed by architects at the edges of the windows which then melt into your skin.

I beating the lives of the cat while the dictates mental unconfigured because of darkness. Where are you going little dreamer smiling in the absence of the days that never see again? That's how to reach with hands full of salt water that flows from the tired eyes of both wasted, crumbling, melting, resigned ...

The balance comes and goes, silence and collapse against the idea of \u200b\u200bnot wanting to take refuge between hate and pain of defeat. It's like the romance of the early morning full of rain, away from light and disturbing your eyes blue on a Saturday ... and the constant desire to go to greet the ghosts in his house one Sunday Monday nostalgia and forgetfulness.