I have a vast collection
from books
some good
others not so much
terrible way
considerable,
but they are mine ...
mine, mine, mine
even sometime
I preferred a book
what about a juicy sandwich
Go that...
go,
they have made you want
die,
they just gave me problems,
a damn void:
that has left me
very
at
background
"Why do not you give your books?"
I said one,
at the end of fucking
brutally
with me,
about them
I swear to god,
he does not hear
nor see,
that I got angry
I vomited the smoke of my burning cigar,
in his face,
on your lips, on your
voluptuous tits
then we made love again
but,
at a high point,
she had reason,
but,
And whom?
Who would deserve my books more than me?
They still had a lot to give me,
although
for sure
every time he read less
someday someone will appear
and so
quietly,
I will get rid of them,
[of Dostoyevski,
of Celine, Joyce, Burroughs,
Fitzgerald, Shakespeare,
Twain,
D. H. Lawrence,
H. Miller,
Nabokov,
Platón, Lorca,
Neruda, Rulfo,
Heidegger,
Huidobro, Emily Brontë,
Vallejos, Pound, Poe,
Hemingway,
Nietzsche, Rimbaud, Verlaine, etc]
my load
and my books ...
@ernest17