Friday, December 1, 2017




She won't write to him anymore
She won't exist for him
She will stay in the shadow
looking towards him
from time to time
only because
of the survival instinct
which is unbeatable
He never felt her
If he did
he would see
she's a rare kind of flower
she blossoms once
she 's vanished
some days after
if it is touched
it will be withered
if you cut it
you are a killer
She dies in absence
She can live only in presence
She fertilizes only
by attracting specific insects
with a scent of death
He never felt her
If he did
he would let her
just exist from afar
Anyway, whoever did?
She was born different
She lived on the edge
She survived
offering candies
to hungry children or
to wretched lunatics
just for a comforting applause
She won't write to him anymore
She will stay in the shadow
She will give love to another one
closing tightly her eyes
just to survive
Her death has been cast


Hungry dogs
my heart
I suppose I was
the only one who felt love
and others lusted after
their share of me
As a whole
I  did not fit in
anyone's soul
But this is usual ...
And whatever I feel
it is just commonplace


How comfortably I nestle
in the lustful prison of my wants
under the pretext of exhaustion!
I distorted my creative vivid self
into a slow moving crawling animal
sick prey to soul-eating hungry passions.
Where is the happy human being I was before?
Oh, I wonder, I lost control? I shudder.
Beautifully I'd muse without doubts in
my familiar cradle of Logic!
Simoom, my chaotic Lust both
excites and corrupts me ...


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