The return III

There were no words, my tongue was twisting and my fingers felt fifteen cents and a little broken. That it was that I was taking the roots of my hair to baldness and that I wanted this to be the blue stage. 

But I was that the reality was that I had no recovery, that each of them left me and the feelings were that of in aeroplane mode and I had no work to free me.

That I was forgetting what it was to write what one expected. That I was meaningless since it was what was going through my soul. That madness led me to the despair of sleeping on sidewalks of broken traffic lights.

TA