Sometimes I want to live and hug the feelings I live and cry

The consolation of the day is sometimes the consolation of the stray, the day of doubt, and I love life at the tip of your fingertips.

City-eyed man.

Poetry voice sadness.

Evil-laden demon and charlatan sun…

Ah, the epitome of love is a fire and here is my soul that sprints…

I swallow the silence, migratory birds escaping from a holey saddlebag on the route of the soul...

Ah, if my nomadic soul were to be called a body, a pompous loneliness, like a bigot, sometimes narrow, sometimes wide, sometimes with a smell of breath and sometimes smelling longing...

I grinded the day and came, stranger and skipped meals, until I perched on the table of love in a lifetime, and I emulated the piercing wind of my heart on the bird wings and the only thing I imitated was sadness and the stories I made up...

The climate has moved.

Love was a swing on the steep slope on my back.

I, on the other hand, breathed longing with my headstrong temperament, I breathed love, I was actually a hopeless dreamer, I was faithful to the power of faith, and I sang songs in the mode of song, sometimes silent, sometimes out of place, with my insane unique existence who imitates only Divine Love.

It was the compliment of the sky, the sun kept and I was imprisoned. I was imprisoned in the love court.

I have not betrayed my ancestors, I have persecuted my peers, sometimes I have persecuted that trophy hidden in the museum inside me, the name that I have preserved with all the care I have inherited from my father.

My sad smile.

My unprecedented fall and my dreams.

That battery, consumed by every loneliness I got for an efficiency, when I was the only witness in the migration of love, the little bird of my soul and my share of the endless breeze, maybe it was a racist threat to my share, the bullet stuck in my heart and here I was, I suddenly came back to life one day, maybe it was the waste and thrown of love before a poem Whenever I remember with enthusiasm, the past of doubt and a teaching left over from the day, whenever I keep silent, my guardian angels and the pioneer of guidance who speak for me, the sadness and mood that explode inside me...

I never thought that loneliness would be a pseudonym, and I even invoked the Creator.

I wish I was a cool-headed killer because there's so much left in yesterday.

One of my elders, when I was writing the book of oblivion in the mist of destiny, while the climate moving inside me had passed its nails, a power hidden in the moment, and I was startled by the footsteps of the crackling sky and with the respect and admonition I felt for the beginning of the end.

Neither a single emotion nor a sense is in question, I am obviously inadequate, but I have always believed that love and loving are the strongest bonds in human relations.

Maybe it's a loss that comes to be a guest on a rough night.

It has mighty wings, both in its darkness and in its darkness, and my imagination rules the night, the sky dome explodes every time I hang on, and its only witness is the one who believes that what I've been going through is also recorded, and I'm content with the miracles of nature and the universe.

The water that fills the slime.

The line of eulogies is innocence.

A life that is as short as a couplet and as full of meaning and endless as a couplet.

It's in my power, sometimes I want to live and choke on the feelings I've been experiencing, and I want to cut my heart, which caused this, but I can't help but kill the innocent child inside me.

Wasn't the yesterday I killed my life not enough?

Obviously, I was not enough for the world and it started again with the allusions and cruelty of the demon.

If it has been harvested, what is life if it is the product of emotions and canon?

What is a living body accompanied by a dead soul?

What is the use of a calm soul, when it is the last tactic given by the hallucinating being with the delusion that the dead body is still on alert to the universe...