ℰ𝘶 𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘢 𝘷𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘦𝘶 𝘨𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘢𝘷𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘰...
𝘔𝘢𝘴 𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘰 𝘦́ 𝘮𝘶𝘪𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘪́𝘤𝘪𝘭...
𝘗𝘰𝘳𝘲𝘶𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘶𝘴 𝘰𝘭𝘩𝘰𝘴 𝘴𝘰́ 𝘧𝘰𝘤𝘢𝘮 𝘯𝘦𝘭𝘢.
𝘈 𝘱𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘢 𝘥𝘢𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘴 𝘤𝘢𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘰𝘴 𝘢𝘭𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘫𝘢𝘥𝘰𝘴 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘦𝘮 𝘵𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘦𝘯𝘧𝘦𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘤̧𝘢𝘥𝘰...
𝘖𝘴 𝘰𝘭𝘩𝘰𝘴 𝘤𝘭𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘴 𝘦 𝘰 𝘳𝘰𝘴𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘤𝘢𝘥𝘰...
𝘌𝘶 𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘰 𝘥𝘦𝘷𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘥𝘰 𝘤𝘰𝘮 𝘴𝘶𝘢 𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘢̃𝘰 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘢 𝘥𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘰𝘴 𝘢𝘰 𝘰𝘭𝘩𝘢𝘳 𝘱𝘳𝘢 𝘦𝘭𝘢...
𝘔𝘢𝘴 𝘢𝘭𝘦́𝘮 𝘥𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘷𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘤̧𝘢̃𝘰 𝘦𝘶 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘨𝘯𝘢𝘤̧𝘢̃𝘰
𝘌𝘭𝘢 𝘦́ 𝘴𝘰́ 𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘴 𝘶𝘮 𝘳𝘰𝘴𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘰𝘭𝘢𝘥𝘰 𝘦𝘮 𝘶𝘮 𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘱𝘰 𝘱𝘢𝘥𝘳𝘢̃𝘰
𝘛𝘢̃𝘰 𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘻𝘢𝘥𝘰 𝘦 𝘦𝘮 𝘧𝘢𝘭𝘵𝘢 𝘥𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘥𝘢𝘥𝘦 𝘲𝘶𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘨𝘢 𝘢 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘦𝘳 𝘶𝘮 𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘥𝘰
𝘜𝘮 𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘥𝘰 𝘴𝘦𝘮 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘥𝘢̃𝘰...
𝘌𝘶 𝘯𝘢̃𝘰 𝘢𝘤𝘩𝘰 𝘦𝘭𝘢 𝘣𝘰𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘢
𝘔𝘢𝘴 𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘦́𝘮 𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘢 𝘪𝘨𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘢 𝘮𝘪𝘮...
𝘌𝘭𝘢 𝘢𝘭𝘦𝘨𝘳𝘢 𝘴𝘶𝘢𝘴 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘩𝘢̃𝘴 𝘦 𝘵𝘦 𝘧𝘢𝘻 𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘶𝘮 𝘴𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘰
𝘌 𝘦𝘶 𝘢𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘩𝘰 𝘢𝘴 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘢𝘭𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘲𝘶𝘦 𝘦𝘶 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘮𝘰 𝘥𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘭𝘦́𝘨𝘪𝘰 𝘥𝘦 𝘱𝘰𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘣𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘢𝘳 𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘰 𝘲𝘶𝘦 𝘦𝘶 𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘢 𝘴𝘦𝘳 𝘰 𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘰...
𝘔𝘢𝘴 𝘦𝘯𝘲𝘶𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘦𝘭𝘢 𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘲𝘶𝘪, 𝘱𝘳𝘢 𝘷𝘰𝘤𝘦̂ 𝘦𝘶 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘤̧𝘰 𝘯𝘢̃𝘰 𝘴𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘭𝘨𝘶𝘦́𝘮 𝘦𝘹𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘦...
𝘌𝘶 𝘯𝘢̃𝘰 𝘢𝘤𝘩𝘰 𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘰 𝘳𝘶𝘪𝘮 𝘵𝘢𝘮𝘣𝘦́𝘮!
𝘌𝘶 𝘯𝘢̃𝘰 𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘢 𝘢𝘭𝘨𝘶𝘦́𝘮 𝘤𝘭𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘧𝘦𝘪𝘵𝘢 𝘱𝘰𝘳 𝘶𝘮 𝘭𝘪𝘹𝘰 𝘦𝘮 𝘥𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘪𝘤̧𝘢̃𝘰...
𝘌𝘶 𝘢𝘵𝘦́ 𝘮𝘦𝘴𝘮𝘰 𝘮𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘢 𝘥𝘦 𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘭 𝘧𝘦𝘪𝘵𝘢...
𝘋𝘢𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘴 𝘲𝘶𝘦 𝘷𝘰𝘤𝘦̂ 𝘷𝘦̂ 𝘦 𝘳𝘪 𝘤𝘰𝘮 𝘰 𝘴𝘦𝘶 𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘰 𝘴𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘨𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘰 𝘴𝘦 𝘵𝘦𝘮 𝘢𝘭𝘨𝘶𝘦́𝘮 𝘲𝘶𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘦 𝘢𝘤𝘩𝘢 𝘣𝘰𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘰.
𝘗𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘰 𝘲𝘶𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘰𝘴 𝘣𝘢𝘴𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘰𝘴 𝘢𝘭𝘨𝘶𝘦́𝘮 𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘢 𝘧𝘶𝘮𝘢𝘥𝘰 𝘰𝘶 𝘲𝘶𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘢́𝘭𝘤𝘰𝘰𝘭 𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘢 𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘥𝘰 𝘱𝘳𝘢 𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘢𝘳 𝘦𝘮 𝘤𝘳𝘪𝘢𝘳 𝘢𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘭𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘰 𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘥𝘪𝘵𝘰...
𝗘𝗱𝗱𝗶𝗲
VOCÊ ESTÁ LENDO
P.O.E.M.A.S (Pensamentos Otários E Movidos A Superdosagem)
PoesíaPoemas que provavelmente não vão ter cronograma de publicação, a não ser os meus dias com energia.
