terça-feira, 12 de dezembro de 2017

12/12

A bird cuts off the concrete clouds of chaos.
My solitude sticks and I stay still.
It's sure the same thick feeling,
Stiff standing sadness,
But I'm too tired to try
To kill it twice.

Another day,
Another tricky temper.
New reframed picture,
New uncertain gender
Of generic prospect,
Doomed reality.

No other pair of sick,
Deep drowned eyes.

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