we can not all be cute.
sometimes you have to go tribal.
and almost my every day is like a quetzalcoatl routine.

but i love those moments.
when you are keeping it neat in a black blouse on a train,
turning up you sleeve just so a couple of scars went upper.
but he is always looking more classy in that Armani suit,
checking you kindly over the heads of mere mortals. aw.

i might never forget that moment, when he bought a hell
of a manor. (i mean, how much it cost? 5 millions? more??)
just so we could have our space to finish that nasty fight.
i surely felt more calmed down, stepping down that stairs.
burgundy velvet something and probably something marble?
i love a good interior, but i am always bad with names.

it is so strange, that you can dedicate your whole to someone
and still there are less moments, when you actually feel 1to1.
so dark age solitude hits like a rocking ball. at times. yeah.
...
i can`t remember my boys by names,
so i reflect an ink pattern to form a recollection.

i am sad about those dark ages, when the tattoo pattern
began to float into criminal mind. i mean, you could just
chop a hand and be ok, right? and despite of how much
it is to recognize your own belonging and do matter, nah.

at quetzalcoatl times, we all did it.
because for us it meant so much more.
tribal is so not something, you want to fuck with.

just saying.
en este mundo, nos sentimos al estar así.