The promise of
what will be
is now the despair of
what could have been

——

We breathe, we learn
We cry, we wipe clean
plans that could have become
paintings of pure love

—–

Into the grey river
I jumped
To try and cleanse my soul
Of all the emptiness
Hibernating in its cold wilderness

——

God smiled
behind his dirty beard
a concave curve of triumph
Fate is his bitch indeed

——

Cut my heart
and you will see
words writhing
starved of love and hope
like the many heads of Hydra

——

Condescension drips off the chips
on their shoulders
like urine from a penis with prostatitis

——

The world spat on my soul
crushing my spirit
under a mound of mediocrity

——

And if I die now
what will I leave behind?
A few meaningless words
and some random memories
in the minds of people
who do not matter?