sunnuntai 28. elokuuta 2016

The pleasure of sitting on the lap of mourning

The pleasure of sitting on the lap of mourning
gray, dark days they

belong to me.
Guests faces
sallow eyes

the sky embrace pollution.
I walk through the darkness direction

seeking, wandering around.
The night they could sleep worship,

under the authority of insomnia

too much supervision.

Shadows are a dream of red velvet.
Impatient world,
Do I remember yet,
how my emotions can play?
To offend a confident view
off balance, as well as the way of peace.

I learned listening skills,
learned to speak on deaf ears.
Learned to be a doormat,
the vestibule in front of the door.
Large grief boots,
leaving dirty footprints.
Maybe the frost will bring home the pork,
lead doormat creates.

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