Disintegration
‘Sometimes we seek in the places,
Where we don’t want to find,
It is your reward for patience,
It is the best room to write’,
‘It is too dark here,
When sorcery ends, you will be blind’,
‘Sometimes the blind see better,
Wannabe artists come here and take,
An inspirational drive,
In this haunted sensational ditch,
It might be a palmy start,
These days they avoid saying ’talent’,
Probably they don’t have,
It isn’t a rave party,
But if you have the X factor,
This den can make you rich,
This sorcery can make you thrive,
No one is real here,
It’s your delusions,
You have just seen,
You only hear voices,
It’s the G-spot of imagination,
It is the best place,
For writing jaw breaking thrill,
At first sight it looks like erotic,
Dating back to the anarchy years,
It is a hive of ideas,
It’s a difference between two clients,
Mediocrity writes love making,
A genius writes making love,
The other day one wrote,
While I was standing behind,
I was stalking the right moment,
Like a skirt of a doll,
It flittered above,
I hurried up,
I clawed it,
I smoothed the machaon wings,
The very moment it happened,
He wrote,
Butterfly Stitches,
Untold Nonsense Abusively Shared,
By One Delusional Moth,
She dreamt of a small butterfly,
It sat on her naked tummy,
For a second she felt,
‘My heart will die,
You force it to stop running’,
Golden azure kept flying around,
It fluttered to her breasts,
Flirting with her living or dying,
It fell in love with her zest,
The lightest touch can suffocate you,
‘How can you sleep?’
The hands of the clock stopped moving,
Showing three in the morning,
She saw his smile,
The night saw his grin,
It’s the hour of her wolf,
It lay on a lily-white sheet’.
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