A poet is an unhappy being whose heart is torn by secret suffering, but whose lips are so strangely formed that when the sighs and cries escape, they sound like beautiful music. | Kierkegaard
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Sunday, November 14, 2010
ACCEPTANCE
i wore this ring of tempest
through the years I’ve been wearing this mask
the pill of attachment
swallowed ,fell ,engaged
a humid hell ,burning
through the furnace of self denial
an inner destruction
a simple grip of interaction
you are not real
but yet I’ve drawn your face
you never existed in this world
but yet I’ve tried to feel your skin
a resemblance of your tears
echoing your thoughts
inside my ears
you never left my mind
now I’m buried in silence
but ill follow your heart
make this go away
make this feeling fade
the strong absence
of acceptance in my ego
you are something
my hands could never have
your picture
in my undying hands
back then
where everything was perfect
now the corners of
my arms
are left with an empty space
for your fingers to attach
winds of denial
breeze of damage
inflicted in my world
the shower of betrayal
a child was born
with my devotion and sincerity
i made a promise
I’m enchained to it
going back to the first place
where i first empty this hollow part of me
a hollow part that you can only fill
a gunshot ,packed inside an empty wound
lay my corpse in a hill
where we can reincarnate
the romance
a shallow grave
and my lack of acceptance..
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