nothing more than a child with a pencil
a mere morsel in an ocean of literature
not something to pay a bill
something I learned before I was mature
my words work wonderful swan songs that serenade simply bite by bite  slowly swallowing you body and soul. That my words make youforget that a poem is more than a string of words tied to a cannonball meant to make an impact. in fact is a cannon ball will explode somewhere behind the broken memories and hiding demons. That the "miracles" that flow from my mind is nothing but insidious illusions that are shrouded in deeper meanings. When in reality I just want to scream because I've been given all the pieces but I don't have the key.