Free verse · Poetry

outside

My name was
What it was? And what is it now?
Was it a hint of glory or a quest?
Was it for me to take it as a curse.

lost paintings & a year of nothing
doesn’t that picture terrify you?
I’m bloody scared
what was it for?
the ways of torture can be less dreadful
yet still effective
poisoned by the truth or the greatest fear?
it brings up the urge to bleed and vomit
if a fish could drawn, it would be me

I hate the smell of flowers
they remind one of the tragedy that the life is
does anyone bring you flowers once you’re born?
not until you’re dead (or you get older, everyone celebrates your death)
I’m so sick, really, I might as well throw up

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