My days are starting to be the same. Fitted into the designed mold of the do-nothings and the feel-nothings.
I’m craving taste, not that of sugar or even less of cigarettes. I’m craving the life savour. When freedom breaches my hair, and happiness fills my lungs. …
Write me flowers;
For all they have in between
The seeds, the pollen and the green
Maybe stop at how the birds and insects interfere
Or just let it be at what the Men see
Love, apology and recovery.
Write me stories;
and tell me about them beauties
Beasts, heroes and big fantasies
Once upon time
They were in rhyme
Faith, hopes and prodigies.
Write me pictures
For all they hide in tiny pixels
the frames, the close ups and the angles
Let them be our serendipity
In thousands words they’ll construe
Beauty, loyalty and our shared dreams.
For now, I’ll just write you
what you mean to me
so us can be
all what we
could have been.
