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Am I or Am I Not?

Writer, author, short story writer, poet, youtuber, blogger.


Falsehoods crazy

(A tale of incoherent and post-Romantic style)

Sometimes I invent crazy things to get out of the routine. Tired of the same thing I invented the way of living intense but slowly ...

A plate of diamonds and one of earth with water; I ingested them, as a result I got lost, climbing a ladder that never ends, but in the end it takes me to the same destination, where the eyes intertwine making unbearable but happy knots. Come! love of always.I have wishes to hit you, until I get tired. You see? I love you so much, that's why I'll lie to you all my life, until after the end of the universal flood.


I long to breathe the sea water! and swim and swim and swim until reaching the limits of the falsehoods and truths of the imperfect cosmos, which takes me by the hands every day of my not existing ...

Am I or am I not? Are you or are not you? Will you be or will not you be?

Everything will depend on the circumstances in which the dispersed echo of the sonorous and decay atoms choose to get away with it, raising their of lexical voice bearable and adjusted to the foundations of my hands. better will be that I breathe letters...


Dark light

The grandiose light suffuses dreams that pour frogs, and heavens, the dream is broken into pieces of crazy life, and love is solidified in secrets fainting in pleasant darkness. Kisses that fly away and approach in minutes, stop their sugar to pour hot salt on the cold skin. Volatile ideas set fire to waiting and happiness.


Alternate darkness

Falling on fragments of life, it is a pleasing torment in approaches to the tangible and intangible moral reality of the suggestive verbs untimely pleasurable with sinful abysses of real and unreal sighs.
The mud gravitates and falls, tearing apart events that float on steps located in an alternate reality of infinite tenderness.
The elevator of white and black souls awaits, on the two roads that sell green worlds painted with a silent breeze.


Words of alternate dimension

People without form and intergalactic,
applaud in the multitudinous stands, and the theater shudders
his words are of unprecedented incongruity. The telepathic colors
they mix with the laughter of an idea that crosses, parallel lines of
restrained intelligence. Jumping over flashing pictures
i kiss lies? Or do I leap into it, submerging myself, inwardly?
Maybe if I should drink all its effects, then
I will vomit, the twisted mistakes of his kisses. I will think that
He died and then I revived his vilified meats ... Doctor of
Broken hearts that laugh, that's me. I will sew his blows, with the
broom stick that I left forgotten in the past. And later
I will kick his proud rat pride, with the edge of a word
that flies after suffering and being happy.


The conscience that gravitates

The breeze enclosed in vitro and equanimous the ether of life, subjugates an insane vague spirit. The spiritual mud covers every section of its walls. Segments of consciousness float and frame each filming of false existences on the cusps of nothingness and everything.

The shadows illuminate the enclosed paintings, and the crystals observe after the stupor of secular hours traced in memories that adhere to several minds crisscrossed by spectral telepathy.
An untimely fly seduces transparent mosquitoes in the memories printed in the clouds of the gravitational letters of souls.
I do not want the breath of concepts to stop! I do not want it! I intend to continue in the historical infinite of intermittent reincarnations. I go and return from the maniconio to my house.
I go back and forth, go back and forth, go back and forth! Always! Always! I am a woman crazy and rope, alive and dead.
Consciousness is unconsciousness without times without hours without marked lightning
that perfume pleasant events and not so pleasant. Conscious are always the spirits that embody the dreams of flesh and turbulent clouds and that eat birds of flour and rain.
The blizzard of verses approaches the dark glass street, and the cars walk instead of running in the labyrinth of pale and multicolored minds that dare to chew unhurried and intense feelings, and then to be clothed with them in the brazenness of the universes of balloons without skin.

© 2018 Venus Mary

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