Immense solitude
Pleasure in the pain of self-conception
Immeasurable pleasure

Giving birth to myself
Is the most pleasurable
Pain

Self-conception
Within the walls
Of my skull

I once heard
Of a convalescent
Eye

Its steps were bulking
The sight
Of the spheres

But we went on jumping
On the lumps
Of clean flesh

And devastated
The gardens
Of our solitude

Bore the masque of colorful peasants
Disgraced our nation
Disrupted what couldn’t have been disrupted
And then started over again
In the agony
Of self-conception
Of self-reflection
Of self-satisfaction
Of self-indignation
And we floated on a cleansed cloud of spirituality
Colorful rays invaded our latent eyes
And gave birth to thousands of miraculous miriapods
There was sensitivity
And then there was me
Ultra-hyper-super sensitivity
Under the rock of nothingness
Well tied down
In the storm of words and nothingness
In the storm of empty every days
There was a small island
Where conception began
Where my mind started to branch out
To your mind
To their minds
To our minds
Forever dismantled and never minding
If there were any obstacles
Or oracles to tell us the ultimate truth
There was a wave on which we drifted
But I had the consciousness and sight of myself
Of this very self that I forgot
This special self that I mistreated for years
And years
And years on end
But it began to flourish again
And burst
I felt the chill
Of creation

I felt
The words spilling over everyone
And anyone who was brave enough to take them
I felt words spilling because they had to spill
Because it was like therapy to me
In so many ways
Getting back to myself
This self
That I locked away
I mistreated
Disgraced
Abandoned
But here we are again
Together
After such a long time
Together again, for real
Not just for short words, not for a shallow composition
But for this
And now
And here
And this again
With no boundaries
No rules
Just the me I used to be when I was the most myself
In the solitude that can be penetrated only by this one and only self
The road
To the reality of solitude
Without faking anything
Without pretending that everything is fine
In the lush disorder and cracks of my self
I find a small miracle in every single crack
And embrace it
Face it with gratitude