I chased my feelings with forgotten letters
Dream stalactites that cause a stampede inside me.
Whispers that do not even fill the rottenness of my dreams.
For some reason, I sometimes play the harmonica, sometimes I play the harmonica, sometimes I get angry at those who play the harmonica, sometimes I get angry at those who play the harmonica, and sometimes, when I don't have a pseudonym, I can't fit the republic of words in me on the pages while I can't fit on the pages either.
My feelings that I have lent a defective day.
The crazy wind I forgot in the corners.
With an enthusiasm that tends to become countless lyrics with my sorrow and sadness, and here are the emotions that I cannot keep up with the speed of the pen, sometimes pulling me by the collar, sometimes the images that denounce me to God, and my pen, which I sometimes drown in sadness, that I sometimes rejoice in the delayed journey of a story that wants to be in the spotlight instead of being a poem hidden in the nooks.
Words are the disciples of my heart.
Poems are the pilgrimage of deprivation.
A handful of hurry?
Or is it sawdust that I carve the heart?
I have already buried my memorable yesterday.
I hit the pen on the head of the pen that was being helpful, and here I always know the season as spring, and the night as a shelter, and I hand bread to the shadows that have no shape or form, and then I hurriedly pick up the blessing they throw on the ground and kiss it three times and put it on my head.
I have dream corridors that inhabit the night.
I have dreams that have accompanied me since childhood.
There are thick shadows and unique objects, and I place elegant objects on me like a hidden dining table in a relative room and give each of them a name and identity with my imagination.
Maybe I am a night-impaired smile in the day.
I am a windmill with a delayed windmill that I pick up after the life that goes carelessly, and here I am, writing an article in the heat of the blistering groundhog heat, which I have just taken out of the oven and which both burns and warms my heart with its smoking smoke.
A dream recital, sometimes day tempered shadows, perhaps the one I love unconditionally.
An emotion fluttering inside me.
A number, perhaps, or or or.
Forgotten letters somewhere and the letters that I pursue with determination and that I give my feelings to the letters.
A dull colored smile in spirit.
A fortune I do not possess materially.
Positive or negative human trajectories that I pursue, sometimes dragged by the wind like a manhole cover.
The color-blind invasion of the season.
I choose an office from the offices.
The funniest and most unbelievable thing is that I left my office and chased my dreams.
How can I fit the hundreds of absurdities I have experienced in my professional life into an article, or how can I fit into the ground with my enthusiastic spirit, which I don't like to be shallow when I haven't fit even once, and the words on my right, the left key on my left, and here I open the door of love and rush in.
Neither cellar nor mourning.
Neither love nor longing.
The harvest and interval of every emotion, and here are thousands of emotions poured by a witty heart, like a fortune hidden in the grounds of the sky, perhaps like a fortune-telling stone, my eyes that I opened like a fortune-telling stone, and the sky is the place I planted with love with the longing for the universe where my values and respect are preserved without compromising my values as much as I observe.
If I came defeated.
While focused on a sad smile.
My meaning is eternity and my eyes to the horizon, perhaps those stolen dreams that have been crushed, while I draw paths for myself from the sublime emotions that coincide with my analytical intelligence as much as I feel and think, sometimes I get lost on secondary roads, but while I am in pursuit of the truth, in order to release my words for a lifetime from the cellar where they are captive.
It is much more than a word, both what I write and what goes through me, just as I am happy as much as I can grow and love with that single drop I have in the ocean of emotion that I circumambulate with the enthusiasm of writing my name in golden letters on the forehead of the sky where I put a loving kiss on my forehead while I am carrying more than a word...