it is a feeling of an impending doom
a feeling of one's luck running out
and at the same time
washing away any remnant of hope
night falls in
swallowing sinners and saints alike
night falls in
with its soldiers in formation
with their bloody knives hidden
under their finger nails
ready to brandish at moment's notice
with the eagerness of the unstoppable
erection of my teenage-self
i remember from the pictures
from where i lay
i see
an unpenetrable wall of forgetfullness
and that thick forests of bloody knives
bearing their fruits of bloody damnation:
the big mistakes and the big regrets
the impending doom
my luck
my time
my space running out
breath...
air...
No comments:
Post a Comment