me ...

My thoughts are a mess. And try to order them, make them not to run. The uncontrolled spread and whether this time can bring order. Or if you must.
I know the sound of these lines. As my thoughts.
Wait. Long and endless waiting.

And I remember Charels Baudelaire's poetry...

You said: "Where you come strange sorrow
It grows as big on a rocky shore?
-When the heart has finished picking, we're
A disease is life .This secret all knows. "

Strange sorrow in my eyes still stands as a silent shadow of memories, of a desire. For continuing to be a smile and a tear. In my thoughts are a and a tear. Both are mines.

In my eyes was always a smile and a tear.
Feeling the pressure. Inside and outside. Where am I in this scene? Playing my life, my playing it and I just found myself not me anymore. A moment for myself is an ideal.
La chiridai rromela ...
And let a tear to trickle slowly on the cheek. I know not last, just first. I know another one will follow .. and then another one ...
Why? For whom? Why?
Which is what I feel? What hurts so much? Why not see the light? Why all roads seem dark? And me ... me where?