It's a journey that I can't return, where my soul knows the way

I wrote my dreams singular and without proposals.

I loved this endless bondage.

Maybe it is considered as a courage and my victimization is hidden in my heart climate.

There were times when I succumbed to my anger, of course, I shed tears after the people who were lost, even though it was actually me and no one I respected could know that I had neglected them.

Don't be fooled by my smile, because I cry the most when I'm laughing.

I am a disciple of my age, my mourning is my life, sometimes I change lanes and sometimes I succumb to the blowing wind.

There are counterfeiters around here.

There are loves and loves under the stairs, and I belong to every place other than here, in fact, it is the pendulum inside me, the meaning of coming and going, and I love and talk without breathing, and sometimes the end of the rope is such that the end of the rope is so short: also my rips and words that I can't sew.

The climate corresponds to the depression.

This is the climate of the heart of the soul, which I have reached by escaping from the climates I migrated to.

I am a victim.

I am oppressed.

I'm happy for myself, at least it's my conscience. That comfortable pillow on which I rest my head, at least I am happy and free while sleeping.

Although nightmares come to visit me and when I wake up, I wake up with wet eyes and start the day.

Sometimes I honor the night with sadness and prick my ears to the smallest sound, sometimes the silence that sneezes, sometimes my mother's footsteps, and sometimes the shadows that I take advantage of.

That's right: I'm the keeper of darkness at night and triggering my pen and my emotions at night, I press the gas of the pen and I suppress all my needs and hunger by writing.

In fact, I quench my thirst rather than hunger, after all, I have taken on the task of a pot flower that needs to be watered, lately, sometimes my bright eyes go out in the dark, sometimes in the light, while my heart is burning, I think I feed on pain and hope.

Maybe mine is a futile effort to be happy by adding hope while it is the equivalent of my sadness, and adding to the sadness of the mystery that I have kept hidden inside me throughout my life.

Is it the balance sheet of love?

I have always suffered from a budget deficit, I am living.

My overdose love poisons people sometimes.

In the years when I shut myself in and out, its shutter is always down and it is a journey that the soul knows the way to which I still cannot return.

If I am crowned, it is hope, and sometimes I am stoned and stretched out, that I cannot get enough of kissing bread and putting it on my head, and suppressing my hunger with its smell.

I manage with what's left of this flood, its face is familiar, moreover, almost every day, and my heart is under the rubble of the snow, I have to be under the rubble of my heart and I was sometimes worried and poisoned my life for this reason, the antidote to life is love, sometimes a life that sometimes loses tissue and sometimes touches and fades. The mystery that I keep hidden inside me like a flower.

My bibliography, of course, is the teachings of depreciating values, such as a stock that I have been chasing for a lifetime and depreciating, and a lifetime when I was constantly wrong when I thought that I would increase in value as I valued it.

Life is a whirlpool.

Its recipe is hidden in Divine Love…

The people who came back to me as sadness in return for my departure from human loves, and the people that I saved up for and finally said goodbye to, and the waves that overflowed me when I was still living with the hope of being an ax with myself, without a hundred eyes to my Lord.

I manage with the remnants of this flood, its face is familiar, moreover, almost every day, and my heart is under the rubble of the snow, I have to be under the rubble of my heart and I was sometimes worried and poisoned my life for this reason, the antidote to life is love, sometimes a life that loses tissue and sometimes touches and fades. The mystery I keep hidden inside me like a flower...