You've never seen the color blue like me in May,
in June, spring is like a perhaps hand that comes to gather the dried leaves in your garden.
No, we are not done playing with your massive ego, so let's try to lose ourselves again.
I'm in your head not in my bed. And wandering alone
We will always grow the bad news every day
My feeling means business. I said: reservation on the next train to the moon!
You and me and we are strong and perverted,
|© Keanuril Basreeves, 2023
A poem I wrote to welcome the sixth month.
We are almost halfway through the year! There's been so much bad news in May, but that's beyond our control. We long for spring with its warm, flower-scented air, yet all we're left with are the lingering tears in the corners of our eyes as we wake up from our beds in the morning. How dreadful. I still yearn for the journey I had, through Tanum, Tetouan, and Sahara. But boys, girls, and life, those are the things we must detach ourselves from. Love them, but not too much. With each passing day, we need to move forward. There are beautiful moments in the past, but dwelling on them is like sitting in a rocking chair—it rocks us back and forth but takes us nowhere. I'm mumbling!
I have finished the novel project that I started in Sweden (thank you, Vastra Gotaland region, UNESCO city of literature Gothenburg!) and I've been trying to send it out to some agents. I've rested my soul for a couple of months, but my face looks very sad and weary. There's an intensity to something left unsaid. I will appear older than my age!
I'm not advocating for people to follow my path, but yes, you can follow my journey (on my Patreon). What will the future be like? I'm broke, I don't have any money at all, but I watch TV every day and my fish are alive. It's a confusing time. Let's hold hands if you're lonely.