I write as I burn and I burn as I write

I have words, old man.

I have everything old:

Love and respect and respect and peace and truth.

My words.

Did I pay the price? Shouldn't I love then?

The guidance that I climb as much as I love.

According to some, I find peace as much as I love, misery.

Virtue is what I know, which is added to torture.

An order in which love and hope and sweat are not respected.

Neither the victim, nor the opposition, nor the victor.

My smile that I live in homage to love and that I still haven't faded and stolen from love, and my innocence that I've already kept hidden.

That I neither flaunted nor alienated myself with stolen dreams.

My heart has never slowed down, nor has it ever froze. I will not succumb to this life with icy consciences and icy looks, even though I seem to have already been defeated by this life.

I have colors, vintage.

I have love, my love: the most peculiar.

I have wishes and dreams:

As long as you don't trample love and dreams underfoot.

It is true that I did not get anywhere, but I started by touching myself.

Moreover, I squandered love because I loved easily who is near me, who is far, who is not.

What a genius and crazy.

It's just my soul that gives and I didn't expect anything in return from people.

Love is the unreachable.

Is love accompanied by love?

Or is love refuted as well?

The old man has arrived: I have love and hope and my words.

Your arrogant and unclean hearts are taken, and plenty of smiles and hope are offered in return.

Those who reside in the universe.

Lifetimes divided into phases.

The haze is over.

Winter is gone.

While the human race is on the verge of fading and many lands are bleeding and innocent people and children are dying...

Give me your old souls and dispose of whatever emotion is hidden in the minus house.

I have words and a big heart.

The one that grows as you love, but breaks even more when you love.

Broken souls hurt me.

Are my eyes beyond glass more than soul or soul?

I have a world that grows as I love: I loved my Lord most of all, living and even inanimate beings, who are not valued today, but valued and valued.

Ah, if only I was selfish then how easy would it be to love myself and happiness.

I drink when it hurts.

Hurt people.

But there is no need for any of them, because I am alive and a person has never fed on unhappiness and pain for a lifetime and I knew everyone as myself, I shed my tears and my heart for a lifetime on a golden platter to all my friends.

An old friend is not an enemy.

What about new friends?

It is neither yesterday nor you nor anyone else that I imitate.

A lifetime while making love as much as I love to death and my dreams one by one...

My fondness for knowledge and my loved ones.

What I expected from everyone I saw in my family and what a disappointment.

The old man came:

Give me your old ones:

Your old tiredness, your old memories, and I will give you brand new smiles and words and lay poems at your feet.

My promise is a promise.

Both embers are hidden in my essence.

I write as I burn and I burn as I write because love is my meaning.

Since I have a subject, I also miss.

My story is not ordinary, what I killed is my yesterday and my feelings are hidden in the pan.

I cover my soul with words.

I cherish my words.

The old man came and I'm giving out love in a big bag:

Call it hope, call it poetry or call it a lie.

My candle is still burning because I burn it not until nightfall and since the only thing I pray for is my Lord...

The old has come and I protest everything new.