27 february 2022
Where Will It End
In deep depression,
clearing the emotional debris,
when your eyes speak―
I become dumb.
The skin mood alters.
Love was not racial.
A naked paper writes your will― that,
you no more belong to anyone.
Going down, down―
the man's ego. I stand on crossroads,
still undecided, your lips
white, eyes red.
The reapers will come again
to harvest the skulls, to
make necklaces. The greed wants
the biggest garland.
Stings are a plenty.
17 october 2025
wiesiek
16 october 2025
wiesiek
15 october 2025
wiesiek
15 october 2025
Jaga
14 october 2025
wiesiek
13 october 2025
Jaga
10 october 2025
wiesiek
8 october 2025
ajw
8 october 2025
ajw
8 october 2025
Jaga