Some thankful words

Why is that that I can’t write when I’m happy ?
Why is that that I need to be in pain to create ?
My life is turning out well
I want to write about that,
I’ve got not so much words to say
Only
That after a very furious storm
Now I’m seeing some rays of sun

Thank you very much for stay at my side in my most difficult moments, this is for all of you (you know who all of you are)

Lust (you’re extravagantly mine)

Lustful words
full of incense and kisses
Your lips painted red fire
and my body burning with passion,
desire,
erotically
alive
Our sexes rubbing.

We whisper at each other ear
words that we will never forget
incomplete verses,
I say:
you’re extravagantly mine.

Your skin, your breast, your innocent vagina
That I devour with words
distant as the stars
in the mists of the horizon.

Freedom of expression

I have to let the words flow
I can not rush a sentence
or bully a verse
I can not create poetry
if I have no freedom
freedom of expression and freedom to express
without fear of creating and let out my thoughts
Weaving letters on the blank page
 

Ink stain my fingers
 

My biggest obstacle
I am

Too much words inside my head

Too much words inside my head

Too much words struggling to get out of my head

And me, without too much language

Loss of words

Playing the poet

in a world full of artists

Trying to be a part

of the world of wonders

but how many words are there that can’t be said ?

nor writing ?

nor screaming ?

crying ?

fighting ?

Too much words inside my head

and me without too much language.

Worried

I try to read but I can’t concentrate

I have no patience and

my mind is a twist

my eyes roll over the orbits

While my whole body

reject the words impressed in the book.

I’m worried

for like I had read in some place :

If you don’t read,

You haven’t the tools to write.

Let’s affront it

a writer is nothing

without his words

The only good thing that a poet can do

is to plasm his ideas in some place,

but to write is to bleed

if your words don’t bleed

better to do something else instead

better to masturbate

and spill sperm all over the floor.

About words

Words escape me

like a dream that fade away with

the light of the morning,

they like to play hide and seek

and, the truth is

I enjoy finding them, reminds me

of the plays with my friends

at my childhood.

Words sometimes are a big dragon

spitting fire and smoke

through every sentence, they are

far away from me

have

a life in their own,

I’m only a messenger, a conduct

for them to transport.

Words of wisdom, fun, sadness, happiness

I’m the train, the page is the station

where they interchange

wagons.

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