Here I am tuck in the margin on this yellow piece of paper trying to capture, among the fibers of its old cellulose, the pictures that metabolize in my retinas.
Some colored metastasis that permeates with each one of the letters that my hands draw with its frenetic rhythm. A failed attempt to scrawl the world every time I skin from my entrails.
Entrails. That they articulate so much freedom the muscles that weave the pan of ink where I spill the feelings that closer to me the lights of a new dawn.
Bright twinkles that implode inside my grey matter, endowing my neurons with a new food to feed their connective stomachs to satisfy their selfish longing of knowledge once and for all.
by_luis7
byluis7 
Well written
Me gustaLe gusta a 1 persona
Thank you. It is an honour for me reading comments like yours.
Me gustaMe gusta
This is great and the words are perfectly written 🙂
Me gustaLe gusta a 1 persona
Thank you for appreciating it😊.
Me gustaLe gusta a 1 persona
Of course! I always love great words of another 😊
Me gustaLe gusta a 1 persona
😘😘😘
Me gustaLe gusta a 1 persona
Woow
Me gustaLe gusta a 1 persona
☺
Me gustaMe gusta
Me encanta
Me gustaLe gusta a 1 persona
☺☺☺☺☺☺
Me gustaMe gusta
Beautiful
Me gustaLe gusta a 1 persona
😚
Me gustaMe gusta
Eres un escritor brillante y estas palabras que salen de ti significan mucho para mí. un abrazo.
Me gustaLe gusta a 1 persona
Muchas gracias por tus palabras.
Me gustaMe gusta
Es genial.
Me gustaLe gusta a 1 persona
😊😊😊
Me gustaMe gusta