titled to life: Ice of Death
wrecked sounds echos
whitin the vault of my mind
twisting in pieces the remining
fragments of my dying soul
Yet, my splittering spine
won’t bend or listen to
the voices of my ancestor
shaming me for
my choices.
i ask to the dead pulse of my heart
what it is ‘to feel alive’
and he responds:
'it is to be.'
splutterin liter of blood
when the world makes
me bleed
crawling in stagnation
when the people makes
me evil
i can do nothing
but
close my eyes
when the sea of confusion
ravage my mind.