Hi old friend.
I know it’s been a while. My life is different now. I can’t write any good poetry anymore, cause I’m always in this strange mood where my hands only write words that are as boring as a sunny day. My poetry is no good. Maybe it oughtta bring salvation to a fish but me? I don’t get any salvation. I try to paint but the colours all just die on the canvas. My stories you used to like have turned into structured lines and dull buildings, not as it used to be. My head is always hurting but my heart ain’t. Wine only gives me hangover and fucking just makes me tired. I don’t even feel alone anymore and it’s making me lazy and dumb. I don’t have any money to fill myself with cigarette smoke and alcohol so how can I even say that I have a soul made of cigarette smoke?
I have become common Louise, and I want to die. I never feared this because I thought I was doomed to be psychotic for the rest of my life or at least die young in a flowery ditch. It wouldn’t matter if I died now Louise cause I am dead already.
Maybe I’ve gotten this disease from Lina, she’s pretty common. She’s only a bit kinky and very depressive but who isn’t nowadays?
Maybe I’ve always been like this but never been aware of it. Is it true? Have I always been so normal?
Maybe Lola would love me now. She was always too embarrassed when I showed up with thunder in my breathe and fire in my veins.
My mother is still a hypocrite and a horrible poet. Nice words ain’t never gonna save a haunted soul. True words though. Truth is the cure. I haven’t heard any truth that have mattered in years. I wish that truth was as common as I am.
Some days Louise, I sit in the old room and watch that silly painting you made. You know, the one with the birds? I don’t remember ever loving it as much as I do now. Some days I also think of you. What it would be like if you were here. You were always so great and I loved sleeping in your shadow. I wished that I could talk to you, but I know you never cared enough, unless you were hurt badly too. But I don’t blame you, I didn’t care too much about you either unless I was sad too.
Louise, I picked a flower that I stuffed in another letter. It was a dried flower and it had spider web all over it, made it look cool. As you may see Louise, I am starting to write boring words again, I cannot stop it.
I hope you get this
Much love, Fransisco
Hello followers and other strangers! I was wondering if anyone of you might want to start to send letters? It doesnt matter where you live in the world, as long as you speak english or swedish. Write to me and tell me if you’re interested.