Mess

Egregious fraud
included political malevolence

I was hopeful that I would feel safe.

I thought that being happy would lead to freedom.

In this instance, with dreams happening and belongings flying, I tried to like myself without dreaming of costs, which are my -- please, it's good to feel.

I drunk on a lover. I can't please every poet.

DCM is patient. I am feeling that I cry for fussing. That's hopeful.


Creativity without peace is far from love.

I am enjoying one moment. I create one hope. I like home.

I am screaming, begging, wailing for attention and understanding that no one will give. That's because no one got people to feel what no one has.

That's peace.

If only your hands would caress me.

This was an attempted and failed explanation of my life. With some good fortune, somebody will piece together what I mean: DCM is my pest.

That's a regression. I have purposely regressed for years now, leaving me a treason to a poem.