24 lutego 2012
Broken
Darkness doesn´t scare me;
isolation does.
The cold wind
blowing soft needles
between the thinning threads
of an unwashed blue hoodie does.
Prosperity is sickness.
Courtesy is blind
on an evening stroll
through urban-planned beauty,
and you are broken
like me.
Torture:
is the way you put faith
in something that will never
love you back.
is the way you drool over
the prose of half-naked half-wits
because their juices
dribble
on the tip
of your tongue.
to wake up
and play the same piano scales
without ever listening
every morning.
to fall asleep
in the warm bosom
of archaic tradition
without ever caring
every night.
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