the greatness does not come up with the title, love.
as much as i have wanted it to see with my own eyes
the hereditary beauty of being someone, those times are lost.

and it is not me, who is actually choosing. because they do.
because it ain`t matter, how much money and power you keep.
if those, who lay under, define you as one, who is to be out..
probably, it is not even me, who could stop what is about to come.

distinguish and rejoy.

no soy el ideal
tarde o temprano
te voy a engañar.
...
between plastic surgeries, seeing houses, chanting on SS season ETRO tassel dress,
making assholes loose their jobs-they-don`t-deserve, i am busy as hell this spring.
next week they promise cherry blossoms, but i am so sad, that it was so much worth it,
when my lover made me quit smoking, but after i hit pneumonia last year i just can not stop.
coughing. as if i had smoked all the cigars in the world and my lungs, they just dropped dead.

i catch my breath, every time i see the ink, falling down your back, just that symmetrically.
a little bit more, than a half of the lower hip, reminding the scales of the.. snake? dragon?
so beautiful, i could actually die, from my heart, beating faster, when you let me touch it.

i know exactly, how much pain i could endure.
but wabori? nah. you should know best.