…takes space full of itself beside its self, someplace forgotten, some chase remembering former fleeting feelings, folded inside of blooming cavities, coughing up chances at an unfaltering future, presently absent to our own destruction, I sigh, outside, for my insides are occupied by foreign countries called thoughts, honey droppings from the beehive, pollinating all pollution, modifying all truths into lies, yet still within such paradoxes, the thread of freedom remains, so I follow the yarn into the core of something more than madness, beyond all shadows of summertime sadness, springing like languid leaves, levitating on what ate my fates fortunate assumption of itself, periodically merging with all that I can and cannot fathom, measuring the depth of my death in untied egos, knowing that nothing is contingent on the existence of a twig (but all), I continue my seeking towards the absence of seeking, slouching towards nirvana, I breathe out soliloquies… ❤
Beatriz Esmer 