Poezja

Some truth disempowers you. You wanted 
to be yourself as if not to become extinct. 
A negative stress 
starts churning your entrails. 
 
Zero inertia. Your body begins 
rummaging the soul for a prayer 
which can arouse your thoughts. 
 
All drunk now. Flashback events. 
Hallucinations. 
The virtue of tongue lets go the integrity. 
Bewildered, spirited flesh ultimately cracks. 
 
The violence tumbles out. My heart 
squeezes melancholy. 
Soon there will be a crowd 
to seek a philosophical kill.