The Poem Book That Shouldn't Be Seen [P1: If It Goes Up, Must Come Down]

Poet Feelings.

My head hurts and I feel like I can't even think,
I'm tired and my brain stops momentarily and consecutively,
With a bank of pink money on my head,
With a bench surrounded by blooming red roses around it, distressingly heavy, something nice but expensive.

I want to think about good things,
Things that make me forget,
Forget about you, me, my life, my past and the wings,
Three, four wings, I bet they were.

Honestly, lately I can only cry,
Cause I'm rarely feeling good,
Always angry, continually losing glory,
I want a life with you, it's the only thing I want and the only thing I think not even a God can give.

With a digital diary, and an allergy in the nose,
Place to tell my tragicomedies,
A personal oratory that not even a trilogy could fill with those,
Those feelings, thoughts, regrets and strokes.

Do you write what people want, or what people need?
You are more of Cervantes or Lope de Vega,
Don't you have anything to feed yourself?
How many yoga poses in verses do you need to satisfy yourself and thus calm yourself?

Leave it alone, leave her, forget it
Don't love, be of stone, Let the waves flow within, not out, that's not the answer, let it go.