Buenos Aires, loneliness

Buenos Aires,
Estados Unidos,
A single room,
My room.

Sleeping :
Coming back home right after work.
And sleep.

Sleeping.
I don't know why I could sleep so easily.
Was going to bed, was sleeping.

Now I can't sleep.
My head is so heavy of thoughts.
A crocodile eat a woman's harm on the beach.
I was shot.
At least then I was sleeping.
Curently people don't sleep.

People talk.
In my head.
We talk together.
For hours.

I can feel their anger.
We argue.
For hours.
That's so simple.
I always kind of win.
But they never go.
Cause I like fighting.

Under my shower, we are fighting.
When reading, we are fighting.
Trying to sleep, we are fighting.
Working, we are fighting.

All the time, I invent them.
They give me nothing but anger.
Anger.

Come on l, this is stupid.
Come on l, this is stupid.
Come on l, this is really really stupid.
(just writting it because I need to concentrate on something else that what is in my mind, what is in my mind, er, no, what is around. J ok, C, impossible, just want him to leave, can't understand that fucking feeling, why do I feel so bad just because people are around ? And why do I feel so bad even when their are away ?

I am looking under the doors. I don't want to look under the doors.

Enter in my house, I can't not listen to the music. I wonder.

They are in the fucking basement.
The are fucking in the basement.
Whatever the fuck. I don't care the fuck.
I care of the sharing. Sharing. I care the emotion. I care people's happiness is build on my lonelyness, I mean, on my sadness.
That's to hard to do it here, I mean, here, is my house also. In BA, was easy, not really my house, but really my room. My own private room with no sound of others.

No creakings on the floor.

Get upstairs in my room. And I wonder, is l here, can I see some light in her room ?

Get in my room. And listen to the floor.

I don't want to listen. i don't want to stare at l's door.

I can't deal with it, my will is overpassed.

Am I kind of ill ?