Sunday, December 21, 2008


I'm imputing, cogitating, and disputing. My head is penetrated by the fuss.

Resembling to weep like an outrageous mortal,
or maybe I'm too knotty?

I prefer to be abandoned rather than to be blissful.

Intense Hostility.
I don't know what do I really feel.

I know that I'm sensible ... sometimes odd.
There's a clamor in my heart.
Pushing me to be remorseful.
I should be calm and placid but I'm assertive.

Do you know what am I trying to deem?


I can't be dead to the world.

Am I too pompously literary?
I just demand to feel the affection that I'm probing for.

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