The part of me that doesn't exist
The debate of foreseen disease that makes humans irresistible
My imagination is too stressed every day
creating unexisting memory
The happy ones, sad, richness to life and after all the lost deeds
To all we create but nothing exists realizing non can be true.
The miserable look of me stammering
These quiet gaze and the can-do spirit brought a mixture of closed eyes
The life we assumed to have, dead arising from the dead
Our last breath has been taken down, depressed, fallen, broken into pieces, and shuttered into thunderstorms
Deflected by gazes of the world, unanimous setting of who we are
His creations of how sorrowful we are, unbothered by the setting, transformation
Nature songs depict us, who we really want to be.
Unexisting castle, the airplanes the machine moving we dream to have
We gave in intriguing love that we claim to have
Mistery, Mistery, Mistery
Void, Void, Void
That part that doesn't exist in us.
IRENEBOADITHEPOET
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