Truly yours.



The time left on Earth is relative now.

Every second by your side reflects a drop of water,

— and every humid touch is a violation to my sanity


Inside this body there is a trap,

A conscience that moves fluids

— boiling through small veins to feed on


There is blood and tears in this war.

That trickle down the same path,

— a fruit surrounded by rotting flies


Clouds following a predictable pattern

Creating figures that mean nothing

— a cloak that hides truth


Concealing ourselves under a mask,

Acting like there is freedom

— till every lie bulges out of a hole


Black holes that devour truth in a vacuum,

Deteriorating lives in a prospective 

—- where we initiated a meaning.


Falling into an eternal pit of emptiness,

Searching for value that we take into our bodies

— running a blade and inserting it quickly.


There is a countdown to every move,

Already predetermined or assumed,

— a manipulation that plays wicked games


A trick that we can’t see,

Sensitive fingers driving up my skin is one,

— a superficial passion a being permits.


To be loved and find meaning in a pond,

Where time has always been relative to its existence,

— and you were always a fish caught in a net


Drowning in an addiction of pollution,

That kills you slowly but you adore to endure

— a masochist living through a delicious situation.


When the time comes where you decide to stop,

And morph into a sadist again, inflicting pain on my mind,

—-there will be a garden with an open stream that leads to a tree.


There are no pills to relieve pain

in a conditional world. 

— there's only truth.


Truly yours with affection.

This poem is about: 
Our world


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