I try to find myself
in hands and arms
sex, sweat, kisses and hugs
Dirty minds, open chests and other cigarettes
Desire,
forbidden, silent pleasure.
A cycle, vicious cycle, intertwined.
What do I want to talk about? Where to try to find me?
Questions I ask myself.
What should I be concerned about?
What or who should I find?
A tangle of unanswered thoughts,
loose in space.
If writing is a way of thinking
Thinking is a way to solve
Maybe I have to find myself... but now I decided to get lost
In fact.