when I write my feet soaked it feels like I'm going down again into a flooding surface of those aired headlines! enough to construct my thoughts in to an evident words, trying hard not to get frowned with how am I supposed to rhyme telling my self ...why I let my self listen to the whispers and wails wanders in-depth even though I just want my flow be clear and shallow!
when I am reading it pours many horizons I used to love and dwell those poetry whereby hunger and thirst were filled everytime I am indeed here in this mysterious world, incomparable to one another. just like the most beautiful view, I can not fled because even whenever I failed to visit for a long period of time I just can't reside away from here fellow
I really just don't know when and how but i am quite sure I have a will to sow my reads and my writes not to get lost. relief and lightness wanting to impose free my heart and mind about my sorrow *fulfill my being in times of a road narrow
why is that good news needs to be heard first Before stating...what is bad news? I think simply because of W r i s t