Being shy in the morning is more than I have been asked through the years
There is something structural about this moment
Something basic
Something stopping or in between ceaseless cease
Due to this sermon giving lot , I am now maybe keeping the maiden name
Substituting him, for myself
Yes, I am still shy in the morning


Whoever listens...that matters
Not takes but gives
Without knowing..like a child
Unconsciously loving...some pay for doctors
I have an instant maker..but I love the streak of summer
The crucial floor for my needs
Do faces matter, ?


I still think about the loverboy tension of the crowd
Shamaness, a spell caster
That's what she does the best
The First World War and places to her shining eye
But I have never been welcomed in retro minds
The repentance; slightly different than mine
Nostalgia..nostalgia
How could I bring it to you if I am not even your constancy
I always felt like the extra ..you know
The one that is ready and packed...
Packed to freshly stay...



Like my father said...not eye for an eye
But maybe putting my nose around might floor
The untouched sky
I remember how he stayed, how he helped
How he consulted the lower percentage of his kind
The male anxiousness with creation from scratch
Not quiet of his
But somewhere close
His three daughters
Happy 'single' father's day dad..


...one of those days...sigh...

You wouldn't know how it feels
The smoothness that flows over your shoulders
And swings down through your body
With slow recognition and a simple look
Turned towards ...maybe not to heaven
But haven in solitary
I cannot be awake at this moment
I am flying like a conjoined twin refusing to be a servant to life
Clothes on my back
Mind is cut with heavy slits of hidden youth
I am definitely not local tonight...


How easily we forget that
We all tell stories off the dragon's mouth
And live monstrously drawing villages with heroic same
Living
We all are the same, same intellectual abilities
Same rewards and same pain
We all have the back stage
Celebrity or not
We all are distribution of poor
before
Riding...away...


observing you, creating a current
of your game, with your tactics
you never ..but never disappoint me
open products for new material
i overpower you in your own game
and you fall into your own ditch every time you feed yourself
and i enjoy the view from this side of
humorous stage of cookbook of a female anarchist...


Haven't been inherited for him this much
Suddenly you turned to him
Convinced that he had something to hold on to, only the cooperation of you
But surely he didn't know it was an energy of a single word
And that brought you two together with me
Seeking miles with melodies
You know how the journey, how the travelling feels
Compromising with enduring extremes ..the heat and cold
With conditions of well remembered past
And never considered present
But he is alive ...maybe
Because of you..


return to God's house of liseur, harakiri freedom

Like a wall of Berlin attachment
You are inferior of men kind
I am sorry for repeating this but I must say
The doorway the other one introduced was considered as
The original trial..associated with pranks
Pushing under rug overtness
and incomplete diagrams
Of unfinished or not proven songs
The butterfly effect killed me not you, and I am reborn today because of you..
unfortunately you tasted harakiri freedom first time in your life...

A victim of soul

This was the whitest year for him
Experiencing real problems, forgetting his for good
Retro never works, I told him
So many times, he didn't listen
He was lost in past
He couldn't see the current pass...