Coming Back to Death
My oldest friend,
As you may know
Such thing should only
be here
In order to keep me
moving
But it has become a
necessary aspect
Of this life that has
been lived for me.
Sadness and this anguished
feeling take over
And my so-called art
comes out.
My dear, you see,
Dark and dirty
Such as my hands
Covered in blood,
Thick
Dark
Old
Poor
Blood of mine
That runs away
Despite all requests,
That runs away
Trying to find peace
Anywhere but home.
Friend, all I know now
is that
Resurrecting as you
wish
Seems to be an act of
selfishness
But instead of making
an effort
To live after dying
I’ve chosen to die
after living.
My resurrection, so,
Happens through pain
And only pain itself
Can make this life
Livable.
Nenhum comentário:
Postar um comentário