I die by the betrayal of the pen whose thorns pricked me

I'm hidden inside the veil I put on my dreams, maybe the tricky paradise called a dream where I swing like a doll.

I am growing and breathing in a delusional climate: more than a feverish creature living in the shadow of passionate loves, bitter realities hinder the future, which is made up of superstitions.

It's neither a metaphor nor a whirlpool.

Maybe in the name of denunciation and destruction of my loneliness, I renounce the feelings that fill me and become burdened with my miserable subject, and I die and braid the hair of the Black Angel with care.

If I am a dream, in order not to get out of the pit I fell into, I make new dreams and build new hell out of new pains, and gambler peonies die and resurrect, obviously every summer for me, assuming a game I play Russian Roulette is supposedly the only way to feel good.

With a sudden wailing.

The supplication of the day does not end, in fact, the day means the night's reward and offering.

If I'm a line, I'm divided.

If I am a line, the real face of the pen that I shattered.

Because of the betrayal of the pen, whose thorns pricked me, I first die and then, with the pride and regret of being born again, I immerse myself in my blood as ink.

If Rh positive, my images are dying from blood incompatibility, my words and I make sounds like a frog stuck in a brook and search for my own world.

I have words next to the iceberg that burns my hand in the boiling cauldron and I seem to have words when I don't care that I'm over mountains or that I'm branded, or that other mountain that I'm offended by being a mountain.

I have delusions, I have excitement in every line that is triggered and the pen is read, I am connected to life and I am disconnected and lost.

My pain is greater than my size; my loneliness greater than my neutrality...

Sometimes I was kicked, sometimes I was put on a tambourine, sometimes I was tempered, and sometimes it was not enough that I became a train, escaped from the tracks that slipped under my feet and walked on a tight rope like a circus acrobat, I was hanged on the gallows.

If I'm a betrayal, it's about love.

If it is a nobility, the silence and love in me is the euphoria itself.

It doesn't matter if it's spring, because the time in me hosts a thousand and one seasons, maybe that's why I gather homeless and oppressed people one by one and make room for them one by one, I create a world of innocent faces that are lost more than a street animal, maybe more than a street animal. to loveless people.

Whatever happened to me, it is because of the blow I received from the people I believed in the eternity of love and approached with love, I finally came to a decision and questioned why I was left so far from love by appropriating all this lovelessness to myself.

That coincidental enmity with myself and that I hurt myself on purpose, sometimes unintentionally.

I have died and been resurrected a thousand times.

I created new moles from my stem cell thanks to the opportunities and bonuses that the universe gave me about my one-time life.

If it's an abandoned house, I'm hiding.

I've been added to a maniac.

Every time I have difficulties, I give my inner voice to the busy and finally I can't stand it and write my inner voice, just as the universe does not take me into account, I stand upright like a castle and I find life in other lives thanks to the pen.

With my color, rebellion and magnificence, the motives and imaginary friends that my heart voice sometimes flies behind the curtains and sometimes hides behind the curtains, adding new accompaniments to my imagination and adding new accompaniments to my mood, and my imaginary friends, just as it is true that I do not ignore people's lies in the shadow of the real shadows that accompanied me incessantly in my childhood, just as it is true and yes, I am also real and I am asking you now as I cannot distinguish which of what I wrote is real and which is fantasy.

Which one of you can imagine the question that goes through me now and please write your answer under my next article. Of course, if I haven't come before you with new questions until that day, maybe it will be my only request from you in the search for a world where I find peace, unless of course I wake up with the sound of the alarm I set and I don't start a new life yet.