Fotos que falam por si só.
Aqui as deixo como forma de expressão, como o gás que quer escapulir. O ar preso. A falta de ar.
Don't think.
Now is too late to die young.
So many hours have gone,
so many days in the past.
I’m only 25 and old neighter am I,
but a gifted child I know I will not be.
It is too late to be a genius.
I finished school already,
and regular grade I’ve got.
I am no good with math
and I can not play piano.
I don’t have the face to be on TV,
and famous I know i will not be.
Now is too late to love him.
I didn’t tell everything I want
and I could not understand what I was feeling.
I didn’t have guts to ask his name
and now he doesn’t know the strange who loved him in silence
It is too late to write this poem.
I should be sleeping for five hours now
and get up in another 2.
I should wake up early and look for a job,
I have no money to buy internet or alcohol.
Today I could not hold my thoughts
and I stayed in the dark writing a txt on a cellphone to myself.
To be late for something you need to know how long your journey will take and FAIL.
Be late, is just a point of view and I know I still have time
to keep trying.
By me
23 Dez 2010
Dublin