Sunday 16 August 2020

This is not a poem.

 I'm tired of seeing towers of black smoke and columns of fire, mushroom clouds and no more blue skies in the horizon. I'm tired of having to see oil blackening the ocean and killing everything in an instant spreading. I was already tired of not seeing any true faces and right now the use of masks all over seem just a redundancy.

I want to see the forests and the sea of trees and delve deep into a more pure air than this around me, till I feel my lungs have no incapacity at all. I want to go to Aokigahara and never look anymore at my wrist veins. I need the depression monster to go away and stop haunting me before the despair or the instant insensitivity allows it to win this darkness war. And yes, I need (to go back to our primordial home) and want to dive in the ocean and not come back ever again to land. 

"I'm tired, boss." Very, very, really, really. 

When the days expire and only beauty rises above sadness and joy...

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