“I broke with the virtuality yesternight”.
Your hands as numb as the winter of some unreached epoch;
as traumatised as the rays of this moon—
borrowed and leaden.
Diddering by the cold morrows of life,
your soul is already downfallen,
out of the blue,
by this last good-bye.
You are through the endless seasons of fall,
with no spring foreseen,
your spirit at stake;
your fall, an eventual doom.
Your eyes are drowning in the ocean of death,
where even in the best of the boards, you're wrecked.
While, I stand as stiff as mountains,
with the same impoverished gesture of last adieu;
concieted by the delight of pain bequeathed to you.
You are the object of my empirical yet conjectural fortune—
that, I poetise now.
In your heart, broken, lies my dwelling destroyed,
and I would soon find myself mislaid or a doomed grave.
Oct 21, 2017
Oct 21, 2017 at 5:19 AM UTC
“I broke with the virtuality yesternight”.
Your hands as numb as the winter of some unreached epoch;
as traumatised as the rays of this moon—
borrowed and leaden.
Diddering by the cold morrows of life,
your soul is already downfallen,
out of the blue,
by this last good-bye.
You are through the endless seasons of fall,
with no spring foreseen,
your spirit at stake;
your fall, an eventual doom.
Your eyes are drowning in the ocean of death,
where even in the best of the boards, you're wrecked.
While, I stand as stiff as mountains,
with the same impoverished gesture of last adieu;
concieted by the delight of pain bequeathed to you.
You are the object of my empirical yet conjectural fortune—
that, I poetise now.
In your heart, broken, lies my dwelling destroyed,
and I would soon find myself mislaid or a doomed grave.
