It's weird, how that place has shaped my life.
Artwork, drawing, poetry, untold love stories.
What is humanity without that hidden room in your heart?
Without that mild pain, and that distress.
Flawlessness?  It is a strange bird from an alien planet, flying into a strange sky.
I will never survive outside that poetry book.
Far from that song, far from that smell of a perfumed paper, inside a concealed shelve
Here I stand as a poem.
My poetry is a secret only depressed lovers, and heartless zombies can understand.
It's the contrast between day and night
In my town, life had enslaved my soul forever.
I stand as a poem, far from humanity.