Longing for the imperfection of life
Craving for the defeats of time Lusting for the subtle decays the nature have given to others My perfected body as a cage My never-ending shapes as a torture My emotions echoing forever as a curse The sense of time. Beating as my heart does. But I haven’t one. The sense of things passing away, sliding into the universe as life does But I haven’t one A beginning, an end, an existence in between. With a name, only one of a kind, only for me. My name. But I haven’t one Memories hurting my soul, memories tantalizing my mind, memories giving me the sense of belonging to someone somewhere. But I belong to no one anywhere. “Nobody” could be my name. Comments are closed.
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AuthorStories and novels, stories and shades of words. Sapphire can be a voice, a whisper, a night talk. Colours in words, words merged and melted with pictures. Words as colours, words as shapes sometimes overlapping with the visual experience. A different way to see the world or, maybe, just the very same way using different tools and finding different paths. Archives
December 2021
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