bedtime

At 6 i stopped reading bedtime stories.
At 16 i started writing them.
At 26 all i wanted was to sleep.

just a face.

laughing on the corner street.
limit between the light and your face comes near to zero when u strike me.
beer on the asphalt.
dancers in the dark.
in the end, a cigarette lights up the distance.
and the end is obliterated, because there is no beginning.
how should i speak.
when can i cry.
run.
hide.
respect?
remorse?
turn off the lights as you get out of my room, please.