This pastime I created some steps of writing. Sometimes before I sleep.
There were many attempts to fall asleep trying not to take so many steps… take it with me
myself so as not to drown in the despair of the hole, where everyone is sleeping, but I awake.
I already know that kind of fury, not thinking about the past, not being inspired by it to put it into practice. Practice my beautiful words.
The conjugal kiss that flowed before in my dreams was placed on torn paper, perfect
It’s not the intensity, but the pure feeling!
My heart seems like a model of good taste, but not even it alleviates my insomnia during these times. Crazy nights, with internal screams, fears and the gunshots that I hear very close to here, it’s as if passed close to my ear, awakening me to new stanzas… definitive sentences didn’t come to me.
Convince, universally what attracts me is art and my solitary experiments to
combat insomnia.
I thought about writing a simple song talking about this or just as usual, cursing life,
regret that I no longer have arms that rock me, ignoring my disobediences
and misfortunes, sometimes at night I also have hypothetical omens… some ridiculous ones that only they keep me awake more.
I’m delighted to be alive, but I get tired of this routine, there are many nightly beatings and
horror dreams!
What I write doesn’t always correspond to what I feel, I choose mutual words within myself
inserted, that make me grow more passion, instead of reversing the natural bonds.
(I don’t really know how to describe who I am, but I know I’m not a daughter’s dislike.)
remain intact in the multiple panoramas, winning, losing, hitting the goal post, I am full of thorns, I recognize.
My eyes close, after fighting for hours on end to stay awake thinking about everything,
while everything can be nothing….
LatinosUSA 
Replica a fatimamc4@gmail.com Cancelar la respuesta