my refuge

O my ancient refuge:
A salute made in autumn's sweat
My soul was on the edge of all the rust, and I could not tie my loincloth and wave a hand of feathers. This fact cannot be denied, I do not want anything specific from you and you only want me to blind you to my shortcomings, you do not want to be a snail that loves to walk..

Then it collapses with the blow of a clumsy boy. Do not underestimate me poetry, perhaps my death will be inevitable at any moment, this is what they say, my smoker, it is not my job to defend it. And you are all the dreadful and terrifying with your beard that I hid my eyes from so that I would not be drowned in the mud of your narcissistic indifference.

And here I am, who holds my throat, who inspires all the roses that bloom without a drop of sparkle of water, oh ray of calm that hits my head, I stop and see the world more miserable and more beautiful than before, I see your misery as if it were all by chance to be crowned by your wife.