In at the line of. . .

Find me a strength to make a fight.

A fight that does not last,

that does make things

not right 

nor a wrong word to make my day,

be more colorful than a month back.

be mundane enough to see the black sky as the only blue clarity as I see fit.

Inasmuch to have nothing,

yet only a longing embrace from a deeper sense of what;

I will make,

I can take,

but of all the pink cake 

I shall not want.

Only to hear the spiders laugh,

the smirks of cockroaches takes the half

of humankind’s feet.



®Artsydhude 97-19



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