Prompt: The year is 12023, you are writing your...
edited
Maybe only music could rescue me in this heart...
Later is solely
the perspective of wheel marks...
What am I to do when the gladiolus cannot stretch...
this vase of loneliness anymore...
We sculpt our idols on our own
from the stone we carve and chisel...
The road-end, flees like horizons
holding on to their distances...
Is it schizophrenia,
knowing that everyone knows everything...
Straight like an arrow,
the vigor of my postures...
Nothing makes me happier than
seeing good in people eyes...
What do you do with the empty space
When your memory starts to forget their face...
There's the cage of those
who lack reason, and those who're...
Our expanding
only circles to reflect in the given radius...