Human Worms More Condition_symptoms

a pencil between his fingers I blue, I try to draw the line of the sea.

Among the fingers I have a blue pencil, I try to draw the line of the sea.
E 'since I was born I try, I tried a million times, but never like I was able to true.
Until I stopped to reflect and look: I had always drawn straight, geometric quai. But only now I realize that geometry is the wrong adjective for something so deep as the sea.
fingers I have left the blue pencil is ticking. The temper, to draw again.

affection for that person who cares, as the seed of a rose at the mercy of the sweltering nettles.
aversion for what was once called friend, and now it does everything to hurt me, always with a fake smile on the lips of deceit.
The hatred for my father, whom she has ever given me anything, apart from the bad.
The hatred for a professor who did not understand a shit, and believe that I can reshape and mold, the more docile and quiet and less thinking.

All these are geometric lines. The blot with the tire. The erase the wave.