Me
I am the pile of Black and grey clothes Thrown on the floor. I am the pictures Of dead men hung On my wall. I am old photographs Taken when I was in a womb. The dead leaves You step on When you visit a tomb. I am what I'll Never be able To Define. I am the failure A generation In vain. I am the smoke Of a cigarette you sip, You sip when You weep, You weep After a loss. The loss Of a muse. I am the sound Your dreams make When they shatter. I'm the haze. The shadow On the wall. I'm the red light You see when you close your eyes Facing the sun. Et si j'avais à choisir. J'aurais choisi De ne jamais me rencontrer. Ne jamais Me faire face.
2018-07-17 20:28:48
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Why?
I was alone. I am alone. I will be alone. But why People always lie? I can't hear it Every time! And then They try to come Back. And i Don't understand it. Why?
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وردةٌ قبِيحة
و مَا الّذي يجعلُ مصطلحُ الوردة قبِيحة؟ -مَا الّذي تنتظرهُ من وردةٍ واجهت ريَاح عاتية ؛ وتُربة قَاحلة و بتلَاتٍ منهَا قَد ترَاخت أرضًا ، مَا الّذي ستصبحهُ برأيك؟
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