I write some poetry. It's usually boring and free verse because I can't rhyme at all.
Well, all the yellow paint that you consume
Will not paint happiness inside you.
A splash of paint on your internal organs
Will not brighten up you like it brightens up your walls,
...
The silhouettes are all that remain:
There is nothing left of them
But the memories that have faded over the years.
From generation to generation,
...
I may not be your cup of tea
But I am your tenth shot of tequila.
We are made to be together
One way or another.
...
There is a crow that always follows me:
A master of shadow—
His dark black wings full of mystery and evil;
His cunning dots for eyes.
...
I watched a dog sweep across the land where no man stands;
So delicate in his every step—
He manoeuvred across it with a strange familiarity:
The mud to him was not a problem,
...