BEHIND THE GARDEN WALL

I have been consumed by all the words and I have become an empty vessel of all description and feeling. The pictures do not capture happiness, as they say, but they capture smiles. Every lover must win something at least, even if it is a bloody heart at the end of the story. All those events could not fit inside my memory, but they became a nuisance to my dreams. They paint fantasies in my isolation, and among people they are embodied in ghosts that haunt me.

Like a beautiful painting in a museum, placed in a corner away from the lights, it was eaten by the darkness. And the darkness took hold of it and turned it into a curse, so are the suppressed feelings behind the tongue, the same people, the same events, the sentences of love, on a large screen, nights and days, this cold, there is no hope, and cutting the ropes, a faint smile, between the eyelids. People I know, frozen people, who never spoke, no one helped them, tears running, and hungry feelings.

Forgetting has never been blamed, because there is something bigger, which is denial. It hurts and kills painfully and terrifies every longing. There is no return after it, there is only an illusion.

On a beach between the stars of the night, in the ebb and flow, I commit some follies and draw the features of time on the fine grains of sand. And behind the tongue is something that is not permissible ...

Poems will not regain their sweetness without their wild melodies, man will not regain his laughter without his beloved givers, minds will not regain their memories without the places and smells of the incident.

Take all your wishes in boxes that are anti-sarcastic, as you do not know the difficulty of your way to achieve them. The dawn does not appear sometimes because of the clouds, but the dawn is the most important part. Discarding the shoulders on flimsy excuses confuses the dream and throws you into the abyss of failure.

The day ends and the eye likes to dream while awake, at night near a warm cup of tea that removes the coldness of ideas and waters the place with the light of safety. A sick patient without the tongues of fire through my fingers that I point towards the innocent before the guilty. The days forget love and remember betrayal, celebrate cruelty and suppress nostalgia, revive suffering and kill joy, throw weights on hearts, these are the days.

Under the trees, we come to the desire to abandon responsibilities and draw small hearts on the soft trunks, to follow the rustling of the branches in a faint morning tone. We drink with the chirping of the larks and the sight of the opening of the flowers.

There ends the reproach.

The sound of the violin on the trailer of the kings is wonderful, and the stubbornness of life against justice is hidden. The streets are full of sounds of different intensities, and the thickness of suffering unites them from time to time.

Avoid the bites of hibernation; you are neither toxic nor healthy as science says, regret begets sin, and another sin hints at a rooted moral provocation, despite the severe slap, we put the stupidity of thinking in the vault of stupidity. Hurry to escape as long as you have not insisted on the arrogance of your ugly self. Your body swaying on gold does not add any added value, but it is the only thing noticeable and the only thing that can be noticed, it is able to throw you away from the edge of danger in an environment that is not hostile to idealism, but you will hint that its luster is only harmful to your cornea.