Dear, at the end of the day,
will I get a piece of air?
If didn't come to the home
As a vagabond,
If my name is deleted
from your yellow diary,
what do you do then?
Night melt like an ice
In my blood,
blurred my face
In dust water of the pond.
dividing me by zero
You get infinity,
the somnolent universe
There was fake affinity.
Dear, at the end of the day
will I get a piece of air?
Think, I am lost in the city,
mossy time surrounded me
You're locked in four walls,
taciturn air can't breathe me
what do you do then?
I want a cup of death
a pinch of fire.
Dear, at the end of the day
will I get a piece of air?
About the Creator
A Love Forboding
The chipped stone slope caused unbearable footing. I slid, skirting on my heels. I cast my shield, relinquishing my guard to stay upright. Left with my double-edge and a prayer to the maker, I skated toward my objective. The earthly stubble gave way to solid ground. I found myself restored, a trail of dust in my wake.
By James U. Rizzi7 days ago in Fiction
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