Jul 11
there are unhappy people,
particles of their mind,
slaves to their desires

people who hate roses
because they bloom in
all seasons,
they hate them because
they are afraid of being
reborn
they are afraid
of death
with its acidic
lips,

they fight
the rest of society,
because their unhappiness
thrives from
environmental
misgivings,

but my unhappiness is entirely
my own,
my vices,
the slow errosion
of my mind,
who do I take arms against?
myself?

it's not society,  it's you isn't it?

because I
was so weak,
I felt wounded
by happiness alone,

because things
that tasted sweet,
always taste bitter in
my mouth.

everyone,
like corpses,
depraved of life,

of money

and of easy death.
Mygreatestescape
Written by
Mygreatestescape  17/F/France
(17/F/France)   
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