(2014)
I call you Art Beautiful, interesting Expressive, talented And yet so delicate.
It might be shit But that’s your own shit And it might be a hit From the park, And that will pose to be
To whom; who death might delight, Put on your socks and your glass And glimpse through a river That breath gust of elite; gust of… Which you will miss gracefully
I do not write my poetry for no-on… And every dawn, i do not reason wh… —On about mystic my work chaperon… Mystic is me but with more time yo… You will break the mystery and lea…
Sometimes i feel like I have done it all But maybe its not me Its the silk that’s unwilling To cover my feet.
A part Of my head Is hurting A part that Needs to
Is this life I seek Is this purity I recall Is this love I felt Is this death I ordered And If i could write them all,
It could be one way to live occupi… That is tacking every trousers in… Despise, and dressing every space… Empty space for sin to lose intere… In its options to form in your lif…
What horror have the earthly natur… How amuse are the fetish majors or… Mostly are the fault of the epipha… painted walls of idiocy and tears… I will be cautious to fetch the ro…
A small piece of metal With a shinning light, Visible yet warmth, Seek the dark smoke As it breaths
This could Be Magic Only if You
I do not blend in with crowds but with might i could desperately… In a pub filled with crowds; this… and in a rave filled with parks; t… but in an open space with one and…
I am Incredibly Lucky Check me out In few years
All this Is Just A front Am
It is just another dreary poem Her heart will forever endure and… As he felt no human rage or human… Felt no anger, love and care in hi… In silence he slumbered in his dee…