Sunny day outside the smoky room

I sit up on the bed amid a sea of skeletons there’s smoke in the air that blurs vision and the sunlight hides behind smelly old curtains I’ve been feeling like a a blank canvas and that was ok; it was better not to feel than to feel the door’s shut from outside, blocking all

Favorite things

New feeling A sunny weather And a guy that knows how to dance

Sweet sweet touch

Listen sweet thing; I’m not very political Or anything And it seems like you’re pretty basic And simply enjoy the sun, too And strawberries, ripe fruits, Chocolate cake, smiling Hugging and caressing Being close Laying on the beach, bare Making love and enjoying life. What else is life but a tasty quench from succulent fruits?

Sun friend

Why am I teary unexpectedly? Could it be the love for my grandparents, the loss of a family member, goodbyes of all kind, The limping dog down the street Quick infatuations, and false expectations Sweet motherland, who seeks no expectations Being sick in this heaven full of empathy Asking for nothing in return, but only

It’s always tea time in wonderland

don’t worry about a thing

Sunny afternoons

There’s a distant kind of sound from crows on a hot summer afternoon where everyone is sleepy, and everything is still. It’s a quick type of fear that this sort of weather and life may soon go away, and you desperately want to hang on to it, engrave it into your memory, and go back

Beauty uncut

beauty when styled, beauty when let go. It’s beautiful nonetheless. &D