The way back it worked
the pretention,
the parthenogenesis.
Now we are lying
without any affair, in self-deception.
The belief has no walls.
The truth inside and the truth outside –
there is no placenta in between,
foetus dies in the womb.
Unpleading, immaculate, zen
bleeds in chips.
My god is lying dead.
My butterflies have gone,
perched on moon
I am looking for stars.
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Author:
satishverma (
Offline) - Published: December 13th, 2014 22:12
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 16
Offline)
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