I'm waiting here with my heart's window that I can't open and my broken drawer

I'm always thirsty I drink water

The nights don't end why don't they end

I'm waiting in my sleep

She doesn't blink all night

I'm groping

Doors opened to darkness

My poems that thorn in your palm

There will be a cut on the tip of my tongue

All the clouds on the windows are crazy

Rain children naked

There is nothing to fear, the account is ok

like i said i will even laugh

I know I prepared myself

Phone after i leave

Your entity was an image:

The woman I hold the pulse of love

Now I've planted dreams

I begged for love when I was tired on the sofa.

Rapunzel of the night in her hair

Dilemma of the universe

Thousands of smiles hidden in my heart

I mark death

My branded fame

And I covered the poems

My joints were the equivalent and regular of sadness

arias of love

cries of loneliness

A smile that I keep

My inner voice that I report

While it is a poem full of humility

I came to the age of the syllables pouring out of my existence

That note is just as my head is thinner than a hair in the presence of faith...

It can't be me, maybe the light is out, the sun and the curse are covered.

I am a mirage pregnant with climates:

The nasheed of love.

Tears oozing from my words.

God owes me a smile and I bounce from one climate to another.

I was stuck upside down: it was the soil, the blood that drew me, the sadness that I drank and vomited, and my poems.

The longing was lumpy.

Some people are envious.

I fell on the road during the harvest season and I was uprooted suddenly, maybe I was not tall enough, I love those waves that whenever I fall into a blind fight, I struggle with myself in this trap.

Since you broke the rudder, my dear, ask before you go!

What is this downpour in which I was caught, in the fire of the grave I fell into.

I am a sorrow-loving cloud, and my helm has fallen from my head, and I am the head of mourning.

Sometimes.

Some people.

That I was imprisoned by thousands of yeis, and that I was sometimes regretfully told to myself.

A QR code maybe love.

Three pains while hidden in a triangle.

My heart that I can't open, my broken drawer, and fragile sky, while the catching birds don't give me any credit, I am dragged in the sparks of love as much as I am burdened with myself and sometimes I hide in seclusions.

My heart's route.

my routine.

The unknown is what I sometimes stumble upon.

A curse itself, perhaps the current universe.

The angle of the pain, whose face is familiar, maybe wide sect sycophants, and I am the fate of the loneliness to which I fly in a hurry like little owls, while my silent inner voice plundered a life, finally I got the license of my pen and dispersed and recovered in time, maybe my fate.

The dawn was brutally slain.

The sundown universe.

Universe vomited blood while I was talking about drinking cranberry syrup, and sometimes I missed myself with an endless wind. My wish was a world without myself, maybe not the one I wished for, but the dilemma of the universe I was voicing.

As peonies die.

While the nightingales are buried.

If he laughs, he is exiled to hell.

While the last hole in the world to hide has also been looted and the thin rain falling on me.

Thin was the wrath of sickness, I was sometimes the most penetrating wind hidden in my lane in this run where I imitated Kafka and killed my breath and my breath was of course the emblem of love, of course, like a secret hidden on the slope of the sadness that I am familiar with, perhaps touching the ground of love as a path rises, touching Divine Love and the most despicable who loves no one digging my grave with the title of being a shadow.

My loneliness barking like a dog inside me

Maybe I can't come, wait five minutes and go

'Cause I'm here and I'm in the dark