A night gone by,

lost to the sound

of fire-burning,



Like fire without light

burning the core

but what is the point,

where is the catalyst?


Blurry vision

of what will come again

when the sun sets slowly

close yours eyes, pray,

sink them into your head.


The voices come again.

You let it happen.

You fool,

you’re crazy,


but don’t go.



So what about mourning?

A grim pit in the stomach,

looking for a way out

but you get caught again.



Not always a good morning.


Little sunrise-


But not

to the mourning.




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