thinking if we disguise our hair in an obscure form of veil they will conceal our madness
thinking if our skin prevails after years of stacking knitwear they will shred our sadness
then asking us why are we so vain? why do we masquerade our emotions to keep us sane? when all your attempts strives to conceal what’s underneath underneath that cloth you call a veil underneath that skin you use for sale
from rough, tattered to freshly scented pages, I've read words, applauded for ages. No, they haven't touched souls, for then graveyards would have been shrines, of these wise, elite men, who lived the life at deep.
Innumerable scribblings, gaining shiny molds of clay that make good decors. all life's struggle praised for literary skills.
Wonder is a poet's life. The greatest poem of all times, his own life, 'cause he imagined his music meltings stone so hard, but the truth lies far beyond.
We are devils, made of dust so rare that rains so fragile cannot wash it offshore.
I look in the mirror and I'm talking to myself about how I can not let anyone touch my heart. For you have gone and have not looked back yourself, you threw my gentle heart into the bin. Tore it apart.
I wanted to shout: Love, do not leave me here alone! Don't hurt me and leave traces of blood in my heart! It doesn't matter that I once loved you, now you're a stone. I resign. Maybe I wasn't a good candidate. I wasn't smart.
I was waiting for you for a lifetime, but was all in vain, for both, in time you showed me your true face, by the way you kiss. For I don't give away my spirit to whom makes an oath, but to the one who'll give me a hand down in the abyss.
I looked in the mirror and all I saw was an error in two, unanswered questions in different colours of a war. If it's a monologue or dialogue, I'm not staying in the queue, anyways, I don't believe in the beautiful Aphrodite anymore.
i want to grow like flowers towards the sun paint me in the image of a (daisy/water-lily/hyacinth/poppy) so I may always bask in light, kissed by sacred bees I might be vain but I long to be beautiful and without a care in the world.
the sun-warmed dirt would be a lovely place to plant my tired feet and rest for a spell, nothing more and nothing less, to be a blessed child of gaia, protected by demeter