9 czerwca 2022
Becoming A Recluse
How much I know me,
I will ask you one day.
That was a symbolic
wish, if you were on moon
to celebrate your own death,
at the hands of unknown.
The deepest mystery was,
why must you live.
This was a culture of thriving with
make-ups. If you recite
a truth, you become ugly.
Hunted by lymphs and
nodes you cannot walk straight.
You turn back, when
the time of departure comes.
Hail the dead, who
licks the rock-salt in end.
Nothing else was real.
2 marca 2026
wiesiek
2 marca 2026
sam53
2 marca 2026
sam53
1 marca 2026
Jaga
1 marca 2026
wiesiek
1 marca 2026
Weronika
28 lutego 2026
violetta
28 lutego 2026
Yaro
28 lutego 2026
dobrosław77
28 lutego 2026
Robert Hiena