At the bottom of the sky, I became a witness in the lane of loneliness

Writing is not what I am bound to without hesitation.

I don't think of you at all when I write.

Likewise, I am not your dependent.

What I wrote.

My dreams command me to walk on the hot sands of infatuated love: my soul hidden in mourning and my insatiable love for love, knowing that I can do more than pass it off with impatient continents, I never feel sorry for locking myself in a ward for life.

It is also the stage of loving tactlessly and I am obliged and convicted and imprisoned.

Can't you see the bump on my chest?

Oh, my enthusiasm?

I am a freak drop in the stalactites of love, a familiar label for the roaring sound of love.

Mandatory destination?

My Lord, since you are the one who welcomes me, since you are the one who knows me best.

Dead climate in my circle ah, my cause.

My melancholic heart and loving images…

A description is life feelings fore…

What is reasonable is to sleep, perhaps to hit the road, whereas I am the charlatan joy of love and feed my patched heart with pain: my words are more than a spark.

I'm addicted to color.

The cut of love.

The three states of water and the five states of the noun, on the other hand, I am already enjoying the luxury of being a hidden subject...

The silence in my dictionary and I, like a caveman, sometimes magma, sometimes burns, sometimes cuts the hanger, and here I am, my soul is free with words, I don't feel my body and I sent the headache that has not come down for weeks to the bottom of hell.

It's okay if I love you: I know and I'm madly in love with you:

It is not an adjective, nor is it a refrain and I am the open soul of the dark sky and naked, whereas my body is covered, my disorientated loneliness is at its peak.

I'm paying fees.

Free from my body.

When I sold my soul for words.

I fell away from the demon's frequency because once I fell into the trap of your words and how my loneliness is so legendary and that's how my reputation went.

My roaring lion.

I'm a crazy gazelle.

I am hypocritical people and I rebel while paying the atonement for separation, where humanity has seen the bottom.

In godless places.

Based on my servitude, I am intoxicated with love.

At the bottom of the sky, in the lane of loneliness, and I became king, in the wind of love and words.

The stopper of the sky is missing.

If my words are love and loneliness, while reading and beyond reading, the magic of writing and its contribution to me…

And that he stole from me.

I am a privileged servant of God, how many thousand times have I built neither sarcophagi nor fountains, nor temples from my wreckage.

If my shroud is in good hands, I swear.

I was struck, I was struck, especially since I was a child, I was struck by the oath I made when I was in love hundreds of times.

I folded.

I'm out on the floor.

I piled poems from my floor scar to my temple.

The hungry cat of the full house.

I am a Cinderella who lived for eleven years without sleep and without hunger.

My prince.

Even more so, I chose solitude and freedom to my temple on his white horse and teleported away from all my fellows by a wide margin.

In your grace of love.

I fought on the front line in the Battle of the Serbian Sea…

I objected when someone was giving a command.

In order for someone to love me, I did not give credit to people, nor did I cringe, and I gave their due, and with the power of faith of my knowledge, I made an annotation to love.

I am the black of love.

I'm bloody from the hell that reads.

My bleeding cells, my bleeding memory and the jewels inside of me, the tone in my heart, the scar on my chest, not on the faulty stairs where love goes up, not at all in a world under the stairs...

I live and love you and you too, my dear reader, neither do you hate nor complain about my gloom.