Paper Lanterns As Centerpeices

Sometimes ... The writer who

Sometimes you dream too much, then, that reality does not matter which day you feel transported, and you feel alone, off, like this damn city that encourages you to plead to those who take away more .

My tears have dried up, pay for my sins of iron in the past but look at me, sitting here as weak and vulnerable, silent as the devil let me talk.

confuses me, her voice stunned me and left me only if I close my eyes I see the throne I deserve but I have, never will put my soul for sale, nobody I'd rather be happy to become a legend dead.

Way slow, and not so friendly but I try, I do not hate or kill the only time I regret that I wrinkle, like a useless paper, in seas, I swim the evils irreversible unmoved.

Child
sensitive, mischievous, bad boy, fragile flesh molded to suit, but lived to tell and recount, and it is so easy to die I tremble at the thought.
But who cares, nothing better than this odyssey, and if there is an afterlife then I welcome that, today I am dim and the glass is not tempered, and it is because someone has forgotten the dethroned prince, who uses broken dolls and paints broken dreams in a broken world, broken by the anguish of others.

is the story silent screams that was punished, now I look in my hands and I find? Nothing.
all have a story to be told and keep a secret that nobody knows anything, talk to the pillow but no answer, the truth is out there, but hiding.