Igor Wolfson (26/12/1989)
It doesn't make a sense,
How that which isn't true will make things real?
I shall appeal to gods presence.
Belief is nothing when you kneel.
For getting prayers told, is sin, not less.
Unless, your demon soul itself reveals...
'This is a grace! ! ', they loudly shout
A grace? ? ? ! ! ! I spit it in your fucking face and laugh
This is the way I love! ! I'm first here of a kind, a sprout.
To make things right
I beg your pardon for the cruel language
When I cant take it anymore - I write.
For me you'll bleed, the crowd you'll feed. Hate is a seed, and it is growing fast indeed! For every other need -
I'm not there, god forbid. For what? ? For bid to greed. And this is just the way I see things lead to others, without a smother I upload this shit!
Comments about this poem (Nonsense! by Igor Wolfson )
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