Jenna Jameson Streaming Firefighter

Attraverso le rapide della tristezza,
sfiorando
il nudo specchio of the wounds inflicted: there you are
floated forty
life
skinned trunks. One

you,
swim against the current, you
them all,
touch them all.

Sadness is like a river that goes to its rapids and waterfalls. Water. We are in this fast or look down upon me? And whoever touches the mirror of the plagues? The wounds can not see them directly but only in a mirror. It is the river itself in this mirror that lets you see the wounds inflicted? And the body of whom? There are forty "logs" Forty bodies flayed the "river" of my sadness. I think forty bruised bodies of men. And this thought saddens me to the point that I have to cover their wounds in the water and not directly. But you, friend, my soul, mystagogue, guide you, who you let yourself be carried away by the current of despair and sadness I count them and touch them, mercifully carries the mercy that is owed to the deceased. Not only do not look away, but even more than watching them in their wounds, caress them, I'll take care even if they are now lifeless trunks, skinned.