25 sierpnia 2019
The Dumps
The words had started to fail me.
There was always an ‘if'―
before every war of hunger.
The candlewick has burned
out. I am collecting the―
wax from the eyes.
Wrapped agony, now lifts
the dead bird from the
rose bushes.
The frosted god
will melt to bare a
black stone.
I am not luck
I am not the future.
You know where this path leads into?
12 maja 2025
Yaro
12 maja 2025
Yaro
12 maja 2025
wolnyduch
12 maja 2025
wiesiek
12 maja 2025
sam53
11 maja 2025
Yaro
11 maja 2025
wiesiek
11 maja 2025
Marcin Olszewski
11 maja 2025
Marek Jastrząb
11 maja 2025
violetta