We all stumble.
The walls of the room close around us,
And the bodies weep
Under microscopical breaks.
With every brush of the hair
Your name comes up
As poison is removed from a wound
And reason is dulled by slumber.
Time runs through the fingers
The miracle of every 61st second.
The obstinacy of blood
Returning to the carcass of the heart,
Though there’s nothing left
There are loves like candlelight –
Beacons for moth like creatures.
And there are loves like fires.-
Self consuming,spectacular loves
Of foreseeable death…
And,as evening falls
into the abyssal night,
we slowly take off
our clothes of day.
Folded and placed aside
in silent, elongated movements.
And, as we move,
a trail of feathers lingers behind,
Floating in a pile aground.
His mind lies stuck in the wrong house
Howling at the blue moon approaching.
Wrong place at the wrong time,baby…
Silence crawls into ears
Into a suffocation of sound.
And the eyes shut down the shutters
In a noise of metal doors collapsing
Day after day…
Nothingness surrounds in thick veils
A morbid fog of frozen cold-
The human kind.
While heat scorches my body
In waves,from within,
Until the last ember dies
“Nincs olyan drog a világegyetemben, amitől jobban leszel ott legbelül, csak a másokhoz való kedvesség.”(Matt Haig)