reading. writing.

bukowski, dostoyevski, vallejo.
writers, do you share the same muse?
writers, do you worship the same pain?
writer, do you write for something to change?
today, i believe i lost something.
tomorrow, i will lose much more.
has it all come to this?
learning how to lose.
because winning,
i learned how it feels,
and i got defeated by it.

reading.
writing.

if there is something they all share
it may be they all never lose.
not even when getting lost in a book.
not even by winning a fat load of solitude
the moment they decide to become a writer.
and i lost something today.
and i think i never lost what she started on me.
she didn't make me a writer.
she just got my shit together.
with heartbreaks and goodbyes.
woke me the fuck up.
and i won.
and i finally lost.
will i get carried away?
will i become another lost man?
buried in his own shitty thoughts,
thrown up in his madness.
why do i ask a lot of questions?
am i stupid? am i writer?
i was just lost, man.
questions in me, that will never end.
and i hope it stays like that.
because the day i answered them all.
then what else do i have to lose?

reading.
writing.

if you ever want to read me from time to time.
don't think of me as someone who deserves your kindness.
this is the place where i belong.
no where and no one.
it was peaceful there.
the high city view and the purest sense of loneliness.
loud with quiet winds,
desperate as well-read men.
what you did to me that night.
will never get lost from me.
"that's what miracles are for".
that's a fact, so true
that lost men don't believe.
you know me, i was never a believer.
because i believed in love.
now?
i believe in you.
my muse.

reading.
writing.

you will never know what a man is capable of, for a miracle.
most of us believe the miracle should be earned.
it should be prayed.
that only someone from the skies will come down
and give it to them.
a holy moment, destined and unforgiving for change and healing,
for the blind, the deaf,
the ones that can't speak.
curse the day that i can't read or i can't write.
because that day i will be dead.
writers, don't you think it's time to make a change in you?
readers, will you stop chasing the right time to change?

reading.
writing.

if i ever stopped loving you.
then there is no writing for me.