In craving of a death,
I had lost my last chance.
When I was alone I laughed.
I was forsaken, I was exile.
I was abandoned and left.
In mass of people I was crowded
because of their rescue - blind gift.
While a gift was a theft of mind and a lie.
They stole all thoughts and even God.
They made a God from themselves whom I didn't bowed.
I delve all this time into one...
I was craving for the freedom.
And I lost my chance,
In case, I chased for someone, maybe something, that in the end enhanced and decayed.
Eventually, I found my own mind space
At the same time as I found a death.
And I went out of this damn game into a congested of blood grave.
Social exile in searching of a death
© Copyright: Диана Кремер, 2023
Свидетельство о публикации №123030806449
Свидетельство о публикации №123030806449
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