There’s a lady by the shore, 

lying in a sleepless pattern. 

Her breasts getting drenched with ocean surf…

the two of them leaping for the stars, 

I guess they will get there one day. 

She doesn’t know about warships, she doesn’t know about rockets, 

she doesn’t know how satellites are made with celebrations to bring down a city full of infants…they are made to crucify the waltz. 

But she knows about people, 

People who make accelerations with sweat. 

She knows about her raped friend who watches romantic films at night and try to find someone through telescopes to hold her finger. 

She knows about the man, who gambles and threatens people for money and makes surreal paintings at night. 

She knows the mathematician who has become an alcoholic just to count the seconds from the molecules of this creation. 

She is always high…you will get the smell of nicotine from her skin…

She gives feathers to all the oceans…

She is my schizophrenia.

…………………………………………………………………….

Painting: Google.