fragments of memory, such as buttons beings,
are abandoned and crashing on the cliffs of this,
on shreds of lucidity.
I do not know where they come from,
if from my real experience or from some remote corner of the unconscious.
sometimes comes over me the feeling of being alive,
but to navigate a perennial dream ... sleep in a perpetual ...
where everything is part of the dream ... dream from which I can not wake up.
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(from Rain of Glass Oscar Agostini)
