I write with letters of the silent alphabet the foreword is a short criticized page. With my heart pounding and silence as my bed I notice that my life will step to another stage.
I will not be a poet, I will just pretend that I use noble and enchanted words I'll write, but I'll be not famous at the end I'm going to search for the emotions of verbs.
And the non-colorful muse with which I feed, will be hiding in the comfort of billions of stars will feel melancholy this entire universe of greed my eardrums will have an echo of silence and scars.