continuance Joana. Small leaves of a thin matter Flow entangled in the wind That pushes them and rips them to tiny fragments of themselves And culminates them to form infinite question marks The wind is ruthless and passionate And pulls the strings of its puppet Leaving, staying Departing, returning It will never cease It has never commenced You take And then you give Shove me To then hold me again In repetitious movements Under the same situations And the cycle never ends As it never has begun I smile Until the words will fade into nothing And become symbols of the pain Of something I don't want to get rid of Please Don't wake me up Not yet. 000710 ... . . 040928 what's it to you? who go blather from