Between thorns and longing
The clouds fall from the clouds of sorrow.
So the memories are broken with them.
The silence that cut off my tongue.
And I was forced to shut up.
In the world of noise and bright lights
That's formed in the sad mind.
The dark, the painful sadness.
And the darkness and the mean longing
Which drives me to hate,
and miserable moods.
And the excessive selfishness,
and its inferiority.
Those passions that stab me,
in the mind before the heart.
And my prisoner's body is strained,
between the numerator and the arrest.
My pulse warns me,
and my flashes are bouncing.
And instead of it, my passion is inflamed.
Every time you pass through,
the thorns of abandonment.
I blame myself for what,
I didn't have in my hands.
From a sincere, virginal love I gave,
And a cruel, brutal wound I got.
Because of my innocence,
I planted it with my naivety.
And I made up for everything,
that wasn't in my transplant.
Now I'm writing in my cold room.
In its narrow, distant corner.
That narrows my breath every time I shed.
Every breath I take out,
and every tear I erase my memory with
Or cover it with another one.
And lie on my back.
On a padded bed and a soft cloth
But my back still hurts from my hard load.
My vertebrae are still exhausted by needing.
And it's with unfortunate compressed
by boredom, screaming and anger.
Why am I tortured?
And she's enjoying with her little choice
Why am I in pain?
Doesn't she have a heart,
or a heart like mine?
Isn't there justice and god?
Or is it chaos and corruption?
I almost realize the bad things in the world.
When I faced what I was hiding behind,
of love, kindness and tenderness
It's like I was in pinky dreams.
And imaginary convictions.
Peace, love and respect..
But the embers in my heart,
have demolished the walls.
And what was ******* is now set free
It intends to ignite and fight,
It seeks disarrangement and revenge.,
But from whom?
But from whom..
A journey of self talking.