The multitude

The lapsed multitude

Fallen, weakened and languid

Under the burden of their bodies

Kept going from one peregrination to another one

And the painful desire of crime

Swelled in their hands

Sometimes a spark

A small spark

Decomposed this society by interior

The men tore each other’s throats with knives

And in a bed of blood, violated premature girls

They were the drowned in their horrors

And the frightening sense of crimination

Had paralyzed their blind and naïve souls

During the rites of hanging a man

To the gallows-tree

When the strangling cord

Threw out the convulsive eyes of a condemned one

They sank in themselves

A by a lascivious illusion

Their tired old nerves

Had a twitch of pain

But always one could see

These small criminals

Standing at the corners of squares

Fixing their eyes

On the continuous fall of water-jets

Perhaps still behind their crushed eyes

In the profoundness of coagulation

A half-alive thing had remained

Which wanted with its strife without energy

To believe in the cleanness of songs of waters

Perhaps, but what an unending void!

The sun had died

And nobody knew that the name of that sad pigeon

Which escaped from the hearts is: Belief.

Ah prisoner voice

Whether the glory of your despair

Will never burrow

From one part of this abominable night

                                                       to the light ?

Ah prisoner voice

Ah the last voice of voices…

The collateral fiction of Waves
The sounds of echoes scream as I strained by my body by the beat of the music  
Tears pouring down on my  makeup
You can hold me down if you want to
I don't really mind 'cause I'd like to
Feel love, how it hurts,
Guillotined of principles killing my subconscious thoughts of the injustice
When we cling on each other bodies doesn't matter the weather changes on over the collide of pauses
And I was writing poetry about you every day
And yeah, I know that things
They never tend to stay the same
But I don't think you love me and it kills me every day
Burned out by the red cuff of over lining shine
The word we're unimaginable
By the colorful pigments of fools
Like the collision of her blames that blinds her before she flies higher than the stars
Blink of the moon and the perpendicular crimination of crimson cream
Bloom all over the sky of orange and blue
The sense of unhappiness is so much easier to convey than that of happiness. In misery we seem aware of our own existence, even though it may be in the form of a monstrous egotism: this pain of mine is individual, this nerve that winces belongs to me and to no other. But happiness annihilates us: we lose our identity
What was she supposed to feel
What was she supposed to do
In the different universe, how was her story gonna end
So many victims tattered her eager thoughts
It is better to lock up your heart with a merciless padlock than to fall in love with someone who doesn't know what they mean to you.
Let her sin away her thought of us
Let her devils ruin her soul and peace of mind
Pictures of her burns alive as the wave take her away