I'm growing my dreams about you in my eye sockets

There are dying words in the folds of my mind, and while I am strewn with an undeniability to which I owe my absence, each one of them I have been dragged into another from the emotions that I have skipped in the course of the climates, while I ignored the anger sprayed at me from the sharp-tongued demon with that invisible and unknown side of my mind hidden in the trench of my axed mind.

Did I have to question which dream came to visit, or when I never cared about living a stereotype...

Climates are changing, and the whispering Creator showers pre-apocalyptic sparks on our heads because of what they do not approve of, or my eyes that radiate fire like a dream sunbathing on the skin of the season, bouncing from one heart to another.

My words are sooty.

My age is salty.

How relative is my life.

Did it pass as stagnant as I paused, or my whole life and I am a mortal who shed sand, I will build an hourglass from those sands and express my anger at the clocks at once...

While loneliness is a destiny, let's see that there are too many people who emphasize that loneliness is a choice, just like they go beyond their limits and create additional damage in my fragile heart.

My body has a tight life.

My head aches as if it's going to come out and I'm worried about words, like forgotten soil in a flower pot.

I enlarge my dreams in my eye sockets and people call it nonsense in this dilemma I'm stuck in.

My flaming cells.

My billions of cells crammed into a cell, perhaps many more cells hidden inside.

It's like chaos.

It turns out how I could not sleep properly, even when I couldn't afford it, and how I put up with the insomnia, to which I had surrendered for days, even months, to God.

I think it has no diagnosis and its timbre is never heard.

My attitude is gentlemanly.

My humble heart is shabby.

I can't hang my soul on that unknown hook in the sky as much as I hang on, here is the feeling of death/suicide that I can't isolate from my body and that I am a hundred eyes.

The precision counter is now indifferent.

Sometimes I can't take the pulse of my feelings.

While it is the wish of the sky, the bursting of the rain clouds, I want to collect and disappear through the emotions as soon as I startle like a timed bomb.

One by one I died and fell.

It tastes and color of caramel, almost like an onion that I pick up in my hand, like dust, like the wind that brings tears to my heart and sometimes tears.

However, I do not know how to cook, moreover, when I lived my life with hunger and killed my soul in my teens and sent it to outer space.

If that's the case.

But what is going on, is it a raging wave inside of me, or is it that I am constricted and troubled as much as I wave?

Have a carefree day?

Is it one step after being humbled or the unresponsiveness of people while being ignored?

Is it hateful looks or a hateful element?

Whatever emotion I am a supporter of is left behind.

So what's left of me?

Just an hourglass is set for end and death and the sand hasn't started pouring yet and here I go inside I turn the hourglass and all my emotions bare from my soul and unprotected maybe because I'm a control freak I want to take the reins whereas I'm just a puppet the world's ears are ringing...

And here are the grains of sand falling one by one.

I no longer feel my body, and my aches and pains are gradually disappearing.

Should I avert my eyes or the mirror or the mirror is also offended by me and it's broken like the broken counter and my heart inside me.

And the countdown has already begun.

The ships I've impounded or the ones I've burned?

It is as if my fading body and soul are more calm.

It's not a collapse, it's a collapse, it's like that man playing inside me and hitting his knees on the ground, maybe even a woman accompanying him and even when the sad notes don't make the calloused hearts ache, there is still something in me that aches, maybe like a pus leaking from my heart.

What happens after I grab it and throw it away.

While my sleep and my disharmony were fluctuating, in the vacuum of air and here are the three states of life: sometimes like water, sometimes like air, sometimes hard like a solid, very hard heart.

The laughter I participated in was far behind, and the people and groups that I could not join and never belong to, and I am incredibly proud, I never asked for anything from anyone, except to be understood and always led to misunderstandings, while I did not allow myself to reconcile with the people of the world at the end.

Why wasn't a new me born from the flowing grains of sand formed from drops to a lake?