I stare at smokey eyes that blame the demons that keep you awake at night and a ripped smile that hides the pain, the sound of the non-sense that invades your veins.
Then a gesture, a gentile putting of a hand over another, likes roses upon the grave.
I know I cannot be saved. I know the lines of my destiny cross and bend in the direction of destruction.
I wish no offspring from this fusion of corrupted souls; I wish no flowers of evil blossoming.
I raise my hands to the sky and hear the chapel announcing the last hour that passed by, without any notion of mine.
But that’s so usual, that’s so me – the lack of notion, the lack of words, the lack of love, the lack of the strength.
Somewhere in the silence, I heard the characters of my mind singing, like an acapella song.
Oh, such a plea for mercy!
No light, no horizon.
And in the darkness, I see your face, so pale. And it’s then that I feel your hands upon mine, so frail.
I’m the tomb of madness; you’re the secrecy of life.
In between the fuss, stands the picture of us. Children of no one, bracing their selves for a future so certainly unsure.
Smoking cigarettes, reciting poetry like a rite, glazing the pure of mix of toxicity.
Blind, I come to realize that you’re the only sight of light in the all this cruelty.
If only they could hear our plea for mercy…
Take my hand, rest the quill, close your eyes and sing me to sleep.
Oh, just the chorus of that plea, plea of the two that were nothing, and will never be.
Lau'Ra
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