The beauty of the dead ones

And here I find myself
Lie down in my dark bed
Surrounded by my books and guitar
Knowing how I failed,
Death is smoking my cigars
And I don’t seem to mind.
Day by day
I go though this bed
Writing poems about women
I’ve never met
About a society
I’ve never changed.
Death is approaching
Telling me to stop worrying
That one day, it’ll be easy
For her to catch me
But everyday I write more
And love music more
And death can’t cross
This enormous road
I take to escape
From her or maybe faith.
Lying there again
It’s almost 4 a.m
But my eyes don’t want to sleep
They just want your lips
Against mines
As a tribute
To Venus’s arm,
The beauty of the broken ones.
I read and I write
And Death seems to fight back
But I have enough cigarettes
To go through the process
Of completing myself
And finish another day.



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