Poezja

The single purple moon 
was cruising non-chalantly. 
You come out at the window- 
and hit the headlines. 
 
Put on hold, my existential 
being. I am becoming 
non-existent. The abundant 
mental ills, become a cause. 
 
Do you agree on this verdict? 
It comes back to haunt you, 
Your past. The black hope dis- 
membering you. You come - 
 
out finally to declare the murder. 
I am waiting in the wings.