a tendency to move around the sphere,
overhauls once inner sadness.

one has planted the seeds of laughter,
on a graveyard overgrown by reeds.

now observing them despair as
flames emerging from a sweet wine glass.

sipping on it, like a hungry child,
finding its way out of this social experiment.

indulging guilt, now as i stand,
on the velvet lace of passed times.

finally they told me to inhale wrongs,
exhaling passion for others to feed on.

no being with a heart still beating,
not i, nor you, nor the sphere itself,
should give oneself up to vagari of others.

exhale only for what melts its heart,
as a chocolate with honey melts into one's taste.