Poetry

I should kick you out from my home,
but you left me by
all drafts and notes of your dreams
yet i am not so bad
at th moment
For now i don't assault the coaches
which transport your trouble
the few match-with which gains seconds
I just wish cicadas would return and flourish
see the growth of moths
watering gruff peasants
and the whole circus campaign
What can I do to a city without doors?
every corner can hide another yourself
a trap of your sighs
a sweetness that you forgot on the train
How do you live in the gingerbread house?
Reconstruct it whenever
you invites emotional cannibals to eat you
simple preposition of your disagreement
Come to celebrate your boredom
is the drain of dissatisfaction
tends to kidnap the possibilities at hand,
blinds before meals and on an empty stomach,
but it is only a stimulus that does you not yet know
I would like to only see the cicadas flourish
while you take away the notes of your dreams