Poetry

To blunt the offence
of beautiful pain
you stopped remaining good.
 
This was a perverse phenomenon
 
wearing the straight jacket
you try to become
a beast.
 
The glowing eyes will
send the message to dispose off
the headless body of
a marbled saint.
 
Someone has taken off
the eyes. You will need
a transplant of religion.
 
I am very unhappy.