Real is overratedNo way in my life is that the gistI'd be everything I am notIf I were a fictionist

Blank pages are cruelPure torture in white or beigeBut how else to start

I exaggerateThere is a lie in my truthLook! My soul is blue

To read a poemIs to see light where there is darknessIs to hear silence where there is noiseIs to dance where there is no musicIs to sing where the only instrument is wordsAnd the stirring, impassioned pauses

Does my soul sufferWhen my body breaks downWhen I feel mortalWhen my body is weakDoes the soul rejoiceThe end is near

I read for pleasureIn search of fictional worldsTo enrich my truths

No music in the raindropsNo clouds with silver liningTorrents of sorrowsHorror in streams

But the sun will rise the day after tomorrowA millennium without us silences our last echoTo tiny fragments even our plastics are reducedIn Eden Reincarnate all life but ours is renewed

I can't remember the poemThat pierced through my heartIt was the saddest I heardOf all truths ever spokenIt left a scar in meA wound that doesn't healBut the words are forgottenSo is a big part of me