Author Note:
Hello Dear Nobody,
Have you seen. How eyes speak loudly. Do you not see, what... I do? It's a broken call to listen, to feel, and to empathise. To the faces I cannot remember. But your stories; I carry. I mourn and I wonder; "How are they?"
Welcome to my canvas, or brain this is were I mourn loudly.
This is a journal entry of the voices. To breath or wright life to the world for inspiration. A form of art, letters sown to words to cut deeply. I'd rather rest in a coffin empty of regret than be buried with the voices demanding there rights.
I'm using this as a journal or dreams and reality, while my memory is getting worst. Art is either your cage, savior, air or the meaning of living. So think of this as Short Stories.
Sincerely To the mis-fists or outcast
I see you. Cause I am you.
P.s.: corrected my grammar by my hot married friends
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