Friday, December 27, 2013

Illness of mind

Temporary meanings fancied into tough doubts
Even blessed men not know of love
Do you want all your answers?
Come along, come with me to this world of separation
This is only the truth in perfection.

When you grow old or maybe even a week from now
You see time sighing by your side
Crying on your part
It gets late every moment and now it’s gone
Almost, almost gone.

What would you do then?
Bullying yourself into impenetrable sheets
When no one would be around
Exchanging notes with hallucinating future
To just finally seep into grounds

I want you to see hell choked with coal
Learn your comforts and deviate them to miseries
Tie you in blackness and kill your voodoo
And be freed, the moth in me away from light
Being out in the universe all by myself

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