25 february 2023
A Paroxysm
Something was left behind.
I was collecting all the
dried roses for the prison of
eyes. I ask myself― what was that.
Something was left behind.
A black rose? Near the
smoked candles of poems? A
tiger lily, still had the blood spots?
Why do I forget the precious things?
Something was left behind.
I wait for the butterfly,
to wake, which had breathed
last between the tender
moments. Why do I want?
Something was to be left behind!
21 march 2025
absynt
21 march 2025
Jaga
21 march 2025
ajw
21 march 2025
ajw
21 march 2025
Eva T.
20 march 2025
wiesiek
20 march 2025
absynt
20 march 2025
absynt
20 march 2025
absynt
20 march 2025
Jaga