Poetry

Anxiety was touching the mime 
I cannot hold a reality. 
We were playing with each other. 
 
The creation and hunger of living 
takes you to unknown fields 
I am, what I am not. 
 
Always bluffing, puffing on the road, 
counting the milestones 
in reverse osmosis, 
feeling proud of mighty mistakes, 
talking to faltered ego, 
going against the sun. 
 
My climate merges with hot desert 
A story reappears again and again 
like a dried skeleton in sands. 
 
How long I will run 
chased by planetary fears? 
Barbs pierce the tender zones 
I see my own demise, 
body floating like a flower on lake.