Can Waxing Cause And Yeast Infection

Linear movement and mirrors

disbelieve, even with the encouragement, in that conscious depression, compared to the image of reality, on the ground, what's that other anti-life, but that is life and soul into it. Therefore, among hypotheses without dogmas, science without laws, interlace and cling to me and wishing detachment, I cling to his resignation. I look at those eyes alight with both lackluster, gestures of a girl who does not know that to be real, is the girl who gets dark in the sky of my contemplation. Disbelieve, from this prison with no windows, since these walls of glass, no air rather than to imagine the breeze and a meadow in this world of asphalt, with the momentum of my own inertia that destroys and builds. Poetry is simple and therefore do not write poetry. Lyrics that bring a figure hanging from the top, and hanged by the absurd link of each word. Excuses for my eyes remain mindful that direction, in the exercise becomes a game of arm breaking. It's simple dream, broken fragments, bring those worlds brimming with centuries of life in elliptical destinations that give rise to fear, so much life on it. I bring my hands each filling dialog. The sites are transformed, dusk, but the sun from one horizon of each object starts its shadow. All rest. Not hear the hum of the light, and simple that world, even more real than this world where this is nested in the truth, it is only necessary to die in apparent sense. It is simply the deep feeling that I have for each person shown as it is, and who hide their hatred that they themselves have. They understand what not to understand me. They do participate in the life of these empires Reyes possible shooting. They see them as bearers of wisdom to the species itself is born, grows and dies. Sore subject with the impression that I generated warm rose in your skin with my hand. I feel I feel adrift in a high resignation, what good is up, if the set is destroyed?. The lights in the library are fading away. Open books in our hands become useless. We seek out stunned by the silence that fell on those voices, which seem to scream that we realize. And the date is this course. The year away. I am in you, - "When one Psychologist sneeze at twelve o'clock, in a library, a born poet." Because the world does not need them because the lines are illogical and kisses, the meeting of hands, where the numbers do not matter. Road towards the sea, which is a light in your eyes.