The strength of this life never meant to be an aggressive one. This ungifted life, I think, always wanted for a higher and intelligent explanation. The permanent exhaustion, the greatest infatuation of these invisible cities lost in the hearts of stone of men: a contradictory convoluted deception, painstaking and useless. I am the falcon, the plane and the eagle that will always be surrounded by the mystery of a dignifying shadow. Sometimes I can see. Sometimes these crying skies are so deeply elusive, that I can perfectly understand the moral tenderness upon which they become valuable.
In a world of dense opinions, the prospect of understanding is irregularly distributed. No one beyond the measures of pain can relate to this dense, surreal red tinted sky of original thoughts and pervasiveness. As the world drowns in a sea of spiraling sickness, I can only recall the fact that I'm not there. Maybe, I will never be there.
Too much descriptive hallucinations. A planetary loneliness that will never comprehend sickness as a realistic memorandum of existence.
Back to the sky of relief, the divinity lost in the surreal city of a restless nothingness. And there is nothing I can do about it. It's too much hate. But nobody seems to care about these fallacies. Neither do I. But I will never proclaim how hard it is to be me in this delusional world of demented incapacitations.
The poetic hardline of uncovering projects of doomed exasperations. This circle of malevolent intentions inflicts loneliness over desperate souls. But human beings, doomed by their inherently malignant nature, will fall over the vicinities of their own evil.
What can I do when all these days of afflictive turmoil begin? There is no denial when the subject is the captivating accuracy of stubbornness. For me to be as ponderable as the sky, serenity has to be something impossible to get.
A very painful life is administered in the ghostly revenues of a happiness that is no longer consistent. Since I have no desire at all to be submitted to my own legitimate, but precarious inhumane abilities, those dreadful moments of divinity will never comprehend the absurdity of reality, for the goal of interior peace.
A very original sense of audacity built wind cities inside my heart. A very disciplined gratification that seeks life as a formidable gift of comfort and consideration. Gives to my mind the reconciliation of an empty city that is perpetually lost in a sea of impeccable trust.
After days of insanity, how can I say that everything will be over? The human soul may be stagnant, but the anxious desire for relief gets stronger. The unforgiving grace of our existence will never depend on the probabilities. Our entire life seems so unbearable; life seems to be vacant in an endless road of pain and restlessness.
Apprehension is what primarily makes me discover daily the wonderful vicissitudes of life, in an almost agonizing emotional journey. But to describe the colors passing by the window of life – at least partially – will make me get rid of hostile and stupid people.
It can be extremely difficult having to endure the spiritually hateful idiosyncrasies that the whole world wants to suppress. Yet this light, despised by virtually everybody, relies on the strength of something that never was, never is, and never will be.