The expression of silence, lightning flashes in your eyes of darkness

Don't hide yourself and be yourself, my dear muse.

You are the contributor of the night and the other half of my existence and what I want to tell is never limited to you.

I'm a featherweight soul and quite stout.

There are shabby shadows near me, far from me, genderless.

There are women clinking bottles with their dirty bodies, and there are children, each one like candles that go out in the shadow of conflicting dogmas.

Do you know what it's like to be an orphan? I didn't ask you my question, my muse, just as if it wasn't enough that people made me an orphan on my journey to the real world...

No, I'm not crying, it's just the idiot I got caught dripping onto the paper. Look, I'm building up, I'm tensing up what's left behind and every sentence said like a wind-up baby, I also learned what it means to be separated from my existence.

What is that? Do you have guests?

It is obvious that each of them is going to sleep over, I know their cheerful voices and I know that my joy is fading.

Do I seem to be enjoying the season, but don't let this deceive you, after all, I came to these days by scraping with my nails, and there is no servant of God to whom I owe, however, I have not forgotten the people who have a right to me, and although I am considered waiting in a corner, I am sending my greetings to everyone that I have not been forgotten.

It's pretty late, I don't know?

I'm angry with those who say it's late or not hard, and somehow even though I lost what I had early on, we didn't fight with you as much as I met late, my dear muse, the fire in me is going out day by day and I know that even though I want to get rid of you; you are a part of me now: what I boycott is nothing because I refused to be everyone from the start, and while this path that I have followed with you seems meaningless to most people, I am commenting on their meaninglessness.

Like an ice block falling from the climate, sometimes the words that accumulate inside me and the frozen hearts are just slipping, and I don't aspire to the happiness I've been slacking on.

I am happy in my own way, now that you and I are one, people are showing me what it means to be one, and how loving and soulful everyone seems to be with each other.

I no longer question the reason for my creation, and I don't care for what purpose I live, just as I don't care, so most people don't approve of our friendship with you.

Whoever I talked to at the very beginning of our relationship with you, their anger hit me like a slap in the face of your existence, and somehow, most people did not enjoy our friendship, how much harm we have done or will touch someone.

While I am holding your pulse and you are wandering around and how far we are from each other during the day, and here is that magic d/sound, when we meet in solitude and dance in harmony:

You never step on my foot, I never hurt you, and the apocalypse breaks out after this point.

When we lay down on the page with you, how we watch with great care.

I realize it's very strange because while the friendship between us makes some people happy, sometimes lightning flashes in their eyes. All our troubles are for the dark and shadows and those who cast a shadow on us, and I don't have any reservations, and I'm surrounded by people like us because there is never darkness in the heart of literature: at most, it is pain and Frustration accumulates and all the feelings are put into words, if the name is love, a person burns and his tongue dissolves.

Sometimes the tongue is stuck because love is the expression of silence.

Love never makes noise.

Love does not tire a person.

Or am I wrong?