Watch me burn.

Hi Bitch!



Sometimes I feel wrong.. Just sometimes..

Musique:Bitch-Plasticines.

The tree of hope.

Two women sitting under a tree talking and one says:



+ I, as in a game and sometimes win bet.


To which the other replied:


"But it sucks, because the bet is accepted things like" feelings "and if you bet your feelings .. you're lost like me.


+ Or me ..


"We are two big losers .. But at least .. We are BIG.

Three days in bed

musique three days in bed-Holly Williams.

A dustland fairytale.

musique A dustland fairytale the killers.

I'm weird.

Long way to happiness

Empezamos la vida haciendo las cosas que más nos gustan.. bailar,dormir con peluches..

Pasamos del bailar al fumar y de los peluches al café..

Vamos creciendo, tenemos 50 primaveras y seguimos fumando y los dientes se nos pudren de tantos dulces que hemos comido a lo largo de la vida; encontramos el amor.. y cuando finalmente lo tenemos nos llega la hora la hora de despedirnos y allí en algun lugar alto nos esperan las flores con familiares llorando la perdida de un ser querido y nos damos cuenta de que no sabemos lo que tenemos hasta que lo perdemos.

(Photos by me)

week shoots.

People are like the flowers they look nice and everything but sometimes they can hurt you.

Butter mix.

4 shoots.

Poesía difusa.

Soy poetisa pero no quiero presumir de ello,pues lo único bello que veo en estos instantes es su rostro, y nosé porque pero siempre que lo veo va fumando costo, y eso es delirante, el ver su sonrisa deslizante hace que me vuelva majareta, e ahí la conclusión , no soy poetisa, soy poeta.

The moon in a silver bag.

I see you naked on the floor.

Photos by me.

4seconds; "photoshoot"

Those Dancing Days Are Gone
Come, let me sing into your ear;
Those dancing days are gone,
All that silk and satin gear;
Crouch upon a stone,
Wrapping that foul body up
In as foul a rag:
I carry the sun in a golden cup.
The moon in a silver bag.

Curse as you may I sing it through;
What matter if the knave
That the most could pleasure you,
The children that he gave,
Are somewhere sleeping like a top
Under a marble flag?
I carry the sun in a golden cup.
The moon in a silver bag.

I thought it out this very day.
Noon upon the clock,
A man may put pretence away
Who leans upon a stick,
May sing, and sing until he drop,
Whether to maid or hag:
I carry the sun in a golden cup,
The moon in a silver bag.

Dos caras.

Let the sun shine here.