I don't know, I never know, because I am love blind and I walk with my loneliness as much as I am being watched. I grow on the bridge of love and inside.
If I'm a color of love birds on the mezzanine.
It smells burning while I am a torment.
My stately pain.
Oh, my sadness cardigan.
I am happy with my shadow and whatever comes to your mind with birds flying in my chest ...
In a virgin plain.
In the sea where I swim from a large pouch.
With all the trophies woven by Bedouin loves.
Most of all, with my love for the unknown and knowledge ...
That love, my Lord: that wind that my cells died and my admiration for a flock of bacteria or ants, like an amoeba, maybe.
I will be proud, however, that while I have presented the record that I was hanging yesterday, there will be someone who hears my voice at the end of the season that moves to the universe.
My apology is hidden in my core because I am a bird.
I live with the uneasiness of being human and for some reason I refuse to be happy.
Square-root of the stars and the sad voice of the wind.
My color pale pink pencil is also pale.I lean on my Lord whenever thunder rumbles with the desire to land on the wings of an airplane.In fact, the universe always and always offers cross-stitches of life on its veiled face. I am fond of pain and the other feeling next to me most of all, so love is indispensable.
What a human love.
Nor is it introverted.
Neither my extroverted inner world and here I am cold in the pavement dust of the world that I am pushed, in fact, I know that I fly every time I fall, and I am reborn every time I fly, but I no longer want to fade again.
An instinct is my colorless soul; If it is a harvest season, every time I hug the pen and I manage with envelopes without stamps and unfortunately I have not written a letter to myself yet, even though I already know that it will not reach the address, I am an outlandish strange, most of all, in the town called the world where I stand by, I do not have the blessings of the world. my fondness ...
My fallenness is just like a dream like a dream falling in me, like a poem, most of all, that waiting before peace, which is sound in the silence of rosewood prayers in my tongue ..
It is unlikely that I will be a message because I will only convey the cross-border living and what happened, and I know that I am a spelling mistake.Every time I pick up the pen, I hear the words hiccup and hatch to each or a letter, and while it is the blessing of the white page I am swinging, I just throw my hand on it. I know that every time I write is the continuation of being destroyed over and over again.
Happiness is against me.
Absolute domination and also. Most of all, it is an aphakia definition of freedom because I do not claim that I am free when I love anymore, so I am only full of the desire to touch the sky on the earth where I was laid, but of course I am only offering my love to my Lord.
Somehow it is not good for me to love people and they make my enthusiasm, which is the equivalent of love, weird, so I have never had an expectation left in favor of people, but I still carry them in my heart and I exceed the bits.
Oh, I can't reach the prophecy inside me and I am filled with thousands of passwords that I still cannot decipher from the inside out and as the circuits burn, I touch my soul, but he is not pleased with me, at least as much as I am not satisfied with me ...
I grow my anxieties ceaselessly and sometimes my mind is incomplete and the change I am going through: I am both physically worn out and my heart defeated.
I do not overlap with anyone, and even with the oracle inside me, I am not the merit of being a servant, but the bondage, because I have feelings that I am captive.
The unfounded accusations are flying on my right and left, and while I have closed the door of my life that I have been locked, happiness and whoever I have not given a passage to is the people I cannot reach and the miserable child inside me that I compete with, sometimes I want to die, sometimes I hate myself because I grow up, sometimes people who run away from me because I love someone too much.
It is not in my hand, after all, I am a regular of love and I lock up every time I love, of course, I do not dream of an invaded paradise anymore, because if the heaven is hidden in me, life makes me an opposite corner.
My chronic feelings.
Every sentence directed towards me positively negative.
Even if I live and love in silence can make people uncomfortable ...
I do not even think that I will reach to touch, not to my previous life and tomorrow, if I euthanized in the land of dreams I have set up, because I am incredibly cold and I know that it is no longer possible to get out of this well that I fell into, maybe this was a road I should never get out of:
Of course, the curves of love.
My enthusiasm overlapping with love.
And my exhaustion and light are extinguished.
I know what is the key point, but I was mistaken, thinking that I will achieve something by writing, of course, I have given thousands of deficits that I can never say, maybe I should not.
I wish I could write my most beautiful writing and poetry one day, and that day I put a big point on everything, how could I still survive after all the disappointment I have experienced in the awareness that I am nobody.