What Happeed To Fakku

Diary ...

a life that fits on the white pages of my
A heart that is empty the ink pen in my palm
Sometimes a picture is
Yellow like the story that burns

Love is love on me in black ink
Secrets desires, fantasies, pleasures
It depends on the actors in the history
But often it is only memories

Sadness flows into the ink became tear
When despair wants violent
At this time the vacuum is sharpened into a weapon
To stand up to the feelings intertwined

What would become of me all my pages filled
Would I be more useful and thrown into oblivion Who
open new
this life Should I keep forever these writings

My cover is closed and I feel bruised
Nobody knows how I feel or do I guess
feeds the hand that writes
If she is sad my soul is sorrowful

It is sufficient that the hand of a tender gesture Sign
a slight ink
a happy time for me to leave the meandering
sadness And fills my sheets a few smiles My generous

forever rumpled sheets in the past
Become the witness actually
Memories that leave the taste Légé
That future was not so complicated

A happy and beautiful week all

Take good care of you