what’s the point of living
when a poetry is no more touching,
when my words as clear as water are turned into poison
by hypocrisy cause I prioritise the low,
when my heart became a lying stone stopped beating?
when the lover have forgotten my existence many years ago
so i’m melting on imaginary shore
left by someone and my better self is bleeding?
what i have to do when lonely time’s beginning?
when i loose my childish qualities I loved
and the world seems unexpectedly so mean
that we prefer to close our eyes to stay away from it for minute more.
what i have to do with this kind human-being
when my younger days are gone by foolish dreaming?
mortification
© Copyright: Мадина Абуева, 2024
Свидетельство о публикации №124122105476
Свидетельство о публикации №124122105476
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