I want to be a writer, I make devotions to be a lover, a power lifter and a punk.
there is an it gets worse.
there is a maybe someday soon.
but at the end of the day, there is no love .
no love is love wasted.
well, but isn’t it?
well, but could anyone say they’ve loved me at all?
scorched and arid
unfruitful landscape
i call on an apple
even if it will be my bitter ending
there are poems and holy dances
there are devotions and ruminations
but at the end of the day, there is no love.