Tangled hair tickle my neck, with closed eyes I'm searching the switches of my dream. Time has come to rejuvenate the pores, to see the real world through the eyes of my dream... How long my nights will decide the moira of my morning birds?
Spine got up like hundred of soldiers in the battlefield holding each other's life in the trigger place, but my mind is still in the action of migraine pill where I can't deny my past night affairs... How long my intoxicated nerves will fight against the reality?
The night was as bleak as a poet wants. From that point, flowers are not beautiful, they're struggling to be. I find their sacrifices, how they leave their charm for each other in every season. It's not the season that bounds them to die, it's the flowers that decide to pass their entities... They are oenomel, in every sense..
My broken nails are holding my latent desires, ceased with catastrophe, struggled, deprived, unwanted, like those flowers in my garden. Painted the reflecting silhouette in every nook of my grandfather's diary, he used to write his failure, now I'm just passing those entities...
Wings are born for the carefree fly, but it's depend on the person who has wore those ones... I'm not that at home in flying... But I know in the huge sky when your wings flutter how your heartbeat sings the song of life ..... My words told me about that feeling.. so I tie up my black and white dreams in the quill of hope, words mumble those memories that they eavesdrop while passing through my alamort heart...
Night that so alone himself, accompanied every soul in every moment... We find a different sight of the world on that dark dusky gloom... Being so alone, so dark, he can captivate the whole of us, the universe finds a way to breathe... I've nothing to do just holding my pen to be the immortal soul as HIM... He needs our dreams to be walked on his eyes of ETERNITY