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all the moment of collapse

flourishes in, and out

what borrow your mind is not mine

and I do belong

everything is poor inside of me

I can not tell, I can not say

unknown languages of any dream

I can not write a story exist

he holds a long breath of years

endless bow, down and out

what make sense is to begin

and I, only do.

-

If words appear as the inside in no language, how I can write a thing?

Identity is subconsciously building up walls on the way, prisoning the anarchy secretly.

I break, and I break another

and I always like to leave, go somewhere.

When on the way in bus

time completely stops for living

You are not somewhere, not where you left

not where you are going at

non existence for all the rest and being just you

my funny favorite,

valentine's ege

nor about the earth surface

I don't care for your helpless life issues

I don't care for making life issues,

my success, is nor in the day.

stupidly speaking, practicing english in telling about you.

I practiced years of turkish to have a rich telling, now what? Nothing in any language. I am poor as google translate

My senses are growing one way and shrinking another, forgotten skills of my hands, like if I can not remember clearly how I was playing before 8; but I remember that I was always hearing the same sounds in my ear, is that so true?