Read it and weep is what was said before you sleep of heavy eyes that have cried and cried denying you tried to have a stronger stride in everyone else’s lives realizing the lies of lying beside a hive of pride wears interfered with your fear’s gears given to you by piers to have you stay clear of abiding in tears bestriding you to do best impressing the depressed under arrest for theft of aggressed messes their confesses addressees you to pieces of what was needed reread the succeeded who defeated the pleaded weren’t conceited eventually forfeited.

Apparent parents nonstop watching the clock for when you will stop wallowing in the following inquiring who’s hiring without fault of firing desiring an admiring ring from a team of teens wanting a rewiring of what isn’t giving out a beam of mean to supreme schemes of more than it seems acclaims a frame of you rearranged to set fame to their game.

what can tortured lonely creator do to break free?
To get rid of all his oppressors and get into  equanimity
the answer is single: to write, sculpt or paint!
but what is when he is droven mad?
Michel Foucault said that nobody yet have created something
by staying in madness..

what else?
Write letters,letters, letters, untill you see how superficial or ****** up are your addressees?
It will end in loony bin
where psychiatric terror make from him a aboulic lamb
he remain being broken forever untill this magic moment
if he will be so lucky to meet a friend
such real friend who gift him understanding
understanding is only salvation
understanding is only solution
understanding is only freedom

Live in color
Leave one hue
be repetitive if you want to

See your contrast
Sea of hues
feel your own divergence too

Be the greatest to love the first to holler and leave
quit everything
and take a road to California reasonless

stay behind familiar walls of all feelable feelings
bad subtexts
Watch over your perfumed shoulder

Love your loved
for a week or two
or eight months

Be a gypsy for Maxwell Steele and my forced fantasy
of ending fortnight
To my ascending syzygial guru
and modern arts.

For better
four of my addressees
on the telephone wavelength alas

Scene not for me
Seen fantastical things
Now let me stay home for a day

I don’t wanna dance anymore