miercuri, 18 septembrie 2013

Jeans jacket,light package

the weight of living hangs
upon my shoulders
as an ordinary pile of chores
that makes my soul quiver
in despair

my cheeks burn and the wind aches
when I'm alone,
yet pain only really kicks in
when I face the sun,
a much too bright reflection
of long forgotten sins

I drown in air and beg
my insides to silence
their foreign chants
because I have no answers
and existence leaves me weary

to be a robot would be
a rational blessing,
but I'm stuck with flesh and bruises
and sickening thoughts

jeans jacket,light package,
thorns stuck in a raspy throat-
it's wrong to feel doomed
both in body and in soul

the weight of living hangs
from my neck
like a rope

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