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I live with a self-data and add a word to the night
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 of humanity and a battalion of soldiers marching rapping inside me, consisting of words that raise cauldrons in crazy geographies.
The mystery of the universe, the mystery of which is hidden in the skin of the night, the sadness that I have covered with my eyes, the sadness about the disappearance, the moonlight about disappearing, to the Creator as much as I am loyal to the Creator, the lights of the day that remain far away from falling into many traps set by fate.
I am now.
The eyes unknown hidden in my immaturity.
A lifetime, even if thousands of emotions to be recorded go into chaos.
My criminal record is hidden in my white face, nice supplication
My subject is poetry, my predicate, story, my tidy loneliness, and sometimes the tremor of the dawn, which I count as dark clothes, darkens my loneliness that appeals to every drop of my eye…
I released my dreams.
It's obvious that I coincided with a seasonal bombardment, flying pollen makes me feel like spring has come and I didn't feel offended by sneezing and itching, my favorite allergy, of course, thank goodness I could eat strawberries to the fullest, at least when it got cheaper.
Everything cheap is on display.
That city thug who shoots his lover like the lover who puts the mail, however, when the court day comes, he will be present with the most elegant suit and tie.
I could not possibly like the supply-demand relationship, however, I always took the economy class and while I was waiting for my height to grow, only one more diploma was added to my glorious history.
I didn't like the come-and-go grades either.
If you're going to take notes, you'll fly, and then you'll be involved in that bell curve.
Life is like a laxative sometimes, or there are people who make a lot of gas and make me gas, of course they never know how expensive diesel is in how much time, so I drink a lot of water, at least I try, of course, the water globe inside me and the earth I live in are not alike and I rain confetti nonstop. off the top of my head.
There are words that annoy.
There are images, lots of fluids.
Also, whenever I feel bad about the pouring rain, the sky accompanies me and of course I lied, after all, I am neither a saint nor a dervish, but I must say that there are many things hidden in my dervish lodge, at least a world where I can dream a lot. I have to make a reservation first so that I can get rid of gravity, maybe it's time to burn wood, I don't know. While people can still be cold in April, I keep pulling back to the deformed season.
Sometimes I can't take my eyes off the sky.
And sometimes I compile an army from the ones that fell out of my eyes. Memories hidden in the fountains of my eyes are the ones that stuck me to the day. For example, I envy that village girl with red caps waiting in line for water in dry fountains, for example, and I come and go to the head of the faucet incessantly, and every time it hisses, I imagine myself in a distant village, after all, all remote villages are my village, my hometown.
I haven't been able to put my feelings into action yet after a boring day that I've thrown away. Maybe I'm tempted by the patrolling police, and I can arrest at any moment a ridiculous word, at least I chain it to the page and I draw a huge circle around it, I add whatever emotion is hidden inside me one by one.
I live with a dedication and add a preamble to the night because the day I can't put any pressure on, I get stuck as the day moves away quickly, here I am, on the counter of the night and I am deceived by the moon that covers the sky, sometimes with the flickering of stars, of course, I am in love with the full moon, sometimes my heart does not fill, or what is inside me that escapes one by one. And here is my anger, which caused discord with life after a day spent in social gatherings, and that I was constantly betrayed and repulsed all the usurer mentalities.
I have to reserve the strongest seat before the night is over so that when I wake up, I can dry it gently and meet the day firmly, of course, it should be secured, I should note meticulously, like every transaction I did in primary school, especially when people think that going back and forth in plus and minus infinity is a crap.
What was it?
What had happened to be a variable unknown when it was a constant coefficient.
I think if there is a result of analytical thinking, if there are no unknowns, I should have set up as many equations, but I just set up the equivalent, otherwise what is it possible to lay my head and sleep?