المرسل صديقك
*
To my tired friend sitting on the couch, you no longer sigh as you used to
When the conversation between you and you ends, life did not bear your mistakes, but it failed you a thousand times, then I see you whenever I return from your shadow, I draw a smile from your luxurious despair, it seems that I understand you more than I should,
I hand you a pen, smoke, and a torch, and silence takes me away from calmness.
We are together like a Siamese in a bad suit, yet we don't get angry,
But you give a lot of your blood, or rather our features change like the disappearance of chlorophyll from the leaves of the laurel trees, I often see you in your eyes, you are far amazed, but you reflect a reaction to all the things you see,
sorry for tweeting locked in cages,
Shackled screams tied under the ribs, I wanted to do exactly the same as you, to open a pathway through which the birds flee towards the forest and a pathway for bitterness under the sun to join the mirage.
We wanted many things, some of which were more severe, for death itself, in order to feel the roughness of its skin.
Some are so trivial that you say very trivial, or to the point that you say all of these are unimportant.
You told me the secret of your strength and helped me mend your weakness.
Despite this, your nights passed quietly, even when you see the enemy in your dreams, you often say you saw him at the bottom of the mountain, you fed him a bullet and he turned into a drizzle, but you fall like a September cloud,
I looked at you in the dark in the mirror and at my face,
I thought about you a lot, then I tried to forget you, my friend.
I've tried to remind you that I tried,
As for now: I am speaking to you without a language, a language that only your eyes can understand, a soft and smooth language that resembles your eyes and the crying of your heart.
The sender is your friend
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