I have words that have fallen into my heart because of the people who lost their greetings You are a city that burns in the stampede of my heart. Please turn off all the lights before I die. My words are neither iridescent nor prohibitive: My hatred and anger at the demon that blew its curse and the burning lights blinding me. If I am a word, what do I mean and why don't people call me by my name? I'm hidden in climates, I'm never burdened with a dilemma... My most reckless…
I don't look at people and lie just so they'll approve of me I am on the throne of dreams, dear stranger. I am a fire that silence hears! I hug the mature body of my inner voice and mature ears, while the guide of the life spent in social life is the one that springs from me. I just feel and know what others don't see. The barley barn of my mind. Free travel and positive negative words. I have just discovered that I am hidden in purgatory and I have only just realized that…
I expel those who are likely to leave from my soul I'm aware that my eyeglasses have increased in the last few years. I mourn my old low glasses trick. I don't have the luxury of going to the doctor myself, I don't particularly like the measurement of glasses full of germs, but my cold hands tell me other things. I miss the days when I played the piano as if that wasn't enough. I'm writing in a hurry. Actually no! Do I love in a hurry, but out of nowhere? This is also the…
I'm in this awesome age where even a greeting is spared My loneliness hidden in this difficult road to fall into since I was caught in the shower of a dream. I try to open people's hearts with the screwdriver in my hand, but none of them respond, still I avoid my eyes as much as I love and the people I love. What I never exaggerate is that God knows first of all and that I have been rejected no matter who I am. The manifestation of reuniting with myself as soon as possible…
My real memory is the library of my mind, I reach out my hand My existence is not stolen! The ignorance of that divine void, and here is the loneliness on its bed, handfuls of stars are hidden in my hands, the scent of lavender, the delicate texture of love, and the survivability of my sadness, which I have pinpointed, are my dreams. I'm not imaginary. Whatever my real memory is, on the dusty shelves of the library of my mind, I stretch out my hand and my heart, hidden in…
I'm close to the jugular vein in your neck where I string pearls of emotion I'm close to the jugular vein in your neck where I string pearls of emotion Clusters of dreams are obviously documents of betrayal and dreams hidden in the face of reality. While that song sung by the fragile birds, who have unanimously agreed to the concerto of the universe, is of course the daylight that drives the joy of the earth, and our soul and body that we surrender to the night, and then the…
Cheering with my words the alphabet hidden inside me Now every line, "*Why did I write this line too?*" I angrily add to the previous one. I feel it is my duty to keep my saintly existence up to the last minute with the same vision. Because any other kind of behavior will be found strange by people who have a small relationship with me and have a little interest in me. However, now and then I lose my cherished existence from time to time. But my wounded mind. For now, he…
I live with a self-data and add a word to the night A port of blue in the bed of dreams! The climate of the heart that anchors my life sometimes collapses to the ground, sometimes to the top of the sky, to the top of the sky, where I am placed in a perimeter busy with hugs, perhaps my so-called destiny, which is left over from the stories I made up, is of course my bibliography, destiny. If I am a cloud, angry. If I'm a rosette, her bright eyes. It must be a rank, the wisdom…
I will suddenly find peace in the bondage of love A rough wind is pounding inside me. It's like the universe incubated. To the wound of the night where I present a section of my stricken dreams, and the flickering and moving stars inside me, sometimes a picture I draw, sometimes the earth on which I crouch. On the curved roads of your life, I wait like an abandoned child, the night of my soul and the shift of my loneliness, and the darkness with which I exchange, many people…
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