martes, 6 de diciembre de 2016

Ice (Part III) CR



He says I suffer from a spiritual emptiness

that I cannot fulfill

because I have no god.

Do you want to be my god? I ask him

I can’t, he answers back, sipping from his glass.

The windows are open, his place is a living creature

breathing between walls,

as the sun reflects its light on our faces.

We look at each other in silence,

I get distracted by the particles of dead skin

floating in the air, illuminated by the rays of light.

I sit down on the couch, with one of his grave flowers

in my hand:

I think I feel a certain pleasure

for disaster,

and a god would only offer me hope.

Hope is an illusion, so you and all your gods

are selling me lies.

He sits on a chair across the room,

and crosses his long legs:

And yet, you want to buy them,

because you keep on asking, you keep on wanting,

you keep on waiting.

You don’t know what I am waiting for.

Disillusionment, my dear

that’s all we’re waiting for.


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