Psychosometic insomnia. Nightmares. Somewhere in between, there's where my subcounsciousness lies. The zombie, vampire myth embraces me, and I feel the weight of immortality over my shoulders, over my heart, over my everything. But there's more than loneliness you know? There's a deep and grotesque feeling of solitude that is hanged on my eyelashes that distort that image of my everything.
And the feeling of being, becomes a mistery, something that if no one can explain, describe, I can not feel. The what becomes who, who is always you, you become me, 'cause I'm made of you. In my skin that cries your distance.
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