What is there to talk about? Between us?
I let silence arise and convolution.
My head in your clouds.
My wings turned useless.
I thought I buried everything.
And you’d return to the site, digging and preying.
What I let go of was lifeless, for me.
Insubstantial, empty and broken punchlines.
Words that were never mine, yet crossed my lips.
You look at me and reach out,
But I stare at your hand and I
Want to run away as fast as I can.
“Čeština: Obrázek XII. z knihy Démon Láska.” by Maxmilián Pirner (1853-1924)