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.
