They are in my poor notes. Words without nexus, written in several moments and in thousand notebooks that sometimes I find the motive to poetize.
Words like green and soul and phrases like: Lonely friends to a lonely friend ….That Makes me write.
I have no more inspiration! I need a single touche who drives me crazy where I can draw a poetic verse!
It was wasted!
I was wasted!
I do not even know if I hate the one who drained my restlessness and recklessness in being …
Being who I am!
Which, incidentally, is not at all interesting but only a relief.
I know that I spend days in solitude.
The face, folded into books and sheets and an tremendously aversion to the common.
With each passing day makes me to be more alike a poet!
People escape me and I thank them in silence.
An eternal and grateful reverence for his absence.!
The ideas disappear inside a chest , full of memories and I grow in rage …. So much the autumn man taken from me but on the other hand I was given so much that we are even. But the anger still grows. Increases, foams inside the chalice.
A cold touch!
My biggest secret is to fear the thief of souls and he should never know!
It is perfect to fear who else looks like dry branches … And will fall….
I do not see anything on him.
The convenient, the polite, the polished movement of dry lips accompanied by a empty soul. And so imperfectly. He touched my soul with her cold, icy hands. He marked me!
I have a mountain here. Immense and beautiful. I got lost there and found me there.
Cursed be you!
Let the green fills my soul, the airt to purify my blood and the cold to freeze me.
Ishould return by the sun’s ray and
touchs by people, with affection and that should bring me to life.
I would like to dissemble!
The price would be too high!
I would like to write happily things instead you have to read the defrosting process of a imprisoned soul .! A inner struggle for freedom and a history. But, by chance, i always have a good delivery to my soul! Always!