It's not futility,
nor is it merely fashion,
dying is permenent!
a solidity of nothing-ness,
life reaches beyond itself!
it's wants to try to die!
put the cloak on, shed
that final white long skin
of hope,
I say living, it is an attempt!
for me at least, always hellbent!
in through one door,
out of another, but always back
back back through them all,
missing something, questioning
what it was...mad planet you
either know or you dont?
breathing is feasible, anything
to be achieved, no true form
of connection, who needs a
face book to unleash one's self,
that core being always hidden
from light,
eternity thrill or kill me,
the entertainment tom foolery
has toppled over,
and the pretending gift
or garment is the exception,
through a ghost ephemeral lock,
such bloated trivialities!
'precious', look how you -
define me....,
to dig the ground up badly,
bury me where you
take it all out,
stuff me in it's place,
so i can stare inside
the skeleton ground,
from a cage of bones,
prattling!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem