On the Cross
reinfatuating of sordid memories
we lay there back to back
away from the realities
like penguins on ice
city is a flame
dancing like
a butterfly
we are all strangers here
we could be feathers
floating on thin
air
on the magical world
of love
do we really care
torn between
science and art
i am on the
cross
twisting rocketing spinning
like a reckless
top
euthanesia
i am tired
food is delicious
this poem is dedicated to ARTHUR for inspiring me to write again
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