I found my oldest pen, the black one, the one my mother gave me when I was seven. It was green by that time, he fell, he was crushed….after a while I found a black new coat for him; looks quite nice …I have violet ink cause I had red before and the blue crushed into this violet….
Well, wanted to write about anything to meet my black old friend…the curtain is a little brown, maybe I smoked here…the flowers died earlier; lucky me, I have saved a photo.
Just one apple … bad taste… too fat and one worm…
Draw lines … the violet ink looks better ..I have one dirty finger…
I wear gray…anyway, better than brown… I might like white lines on black…some dogs are barking, must be a fight….or just a cat…
Said I shall remember dreams ...no way…not one word…shhh….must hide.. somebody might see I use violet ink instead of pencils...
Brushes….Bon Jovi is singing “Bed of roses”... can’t remember that song, the one…you now, don’t you…? It was about the wind, the hours and the footprints…that one heard under the cherry tree…only there….
Get back here! He won’t , she has that photo on the walls, yes, that one…with a little blue…
that evening, those …
I have violet ink.
Bananas, not three oranges, water and coffee …yes the song was about the wind, I know that for sure, about the doors, some shadows…
Done . Another one about the wind. Must not listen the words…
So… points …the pen makes different points…I hate this song…let it play…
Matches on the ash tray. Still Bon Jovi. No moon. Books. Dust.
Break. Ink Stain.
No…not this song! Ouch!
No squares, triangles….the ink gets bluer….
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