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Blessed
Published Mar 21, 2020
Updated Jul 3, 2021
Offbeat
2 min
Offbeat
Published Mar 21, 2020
Updated Jul 3, 2021
2 min
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370 readings
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Blessed
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By dint of writing the tears of my life,
would I reach the flames of oblivion.
Misplaced, pissed, hampered the raisonment
I drift, I experience thee soul, but I'm scapegoat.
Everything was in me and I did not know.
I'm not against anyone and love is an illusion, a mirage, a chimera.
At the bottom of my being hasn't been found love.
Into my heart, I know what not to think about..
Cruel fate of a being perpetually murdered.
Which future?
I do not believe it, art is an hydra that pumps me my poetry.
I cling, I insult, I whisthle but I don't go out of me.
From bad to good and good into evil my moods are uncontrollable.
At the hatred and contempt that makes so many years that I do feel you,
but you never come.
Good bad I filled my understanding of dark love into an empathic
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