About what I felt...

I don't how many souls I have
Every moment it changes
Don't even know myself everytime
Never saw or even finished
For exist, I just have soul
And who has it, don't have silence
Who sees are just what sees.
Who feels, aren't what really are.
Ware at what I am and see...
Became them, not myself
Every dream or wish of me
It's where it born, not mine
I am my own landscape
I watch my way
Miscellaneous, mobile and alone
I don't know how to feel where I am
That's why, foreign, keep on reading
Like pages, my being
What goes don't providing
What get forgotten
I see, besides of what I had read
What I judge to feel
Read again and think: "Was me?"
God knows, 'cause he wrote it.