Fake pictures

Fake picture

I.
Oh no, this is not me
Holding myself into rainbows of the night:
moulding myself into the a portion of madness life left me with, everything I am touching is becoming a city of emptiness and dirtiness_pls do not call me ovasion of leaking bottles .

II.
Maybe, i am spelling my name backward and I am not understanding the remnants of jargons trapped between my teeth
because this sagging breast, on my chest, fuels no milk.

Yesterday:
I hold a gulp of dirge in my mouth and pluck myself into mother's prayer for survival and wait for psalm bleeding from Gods eye._bastard breeding bastards, I am

III.
Yet, my heart becomes a sojourn of yam. goat, and lion on the boat of fate_myself, my ghost and my mirror._ see_
you call me home ,home calls me home too.so I find home in rome and all that roam ,I am not mad I promise ,just an harbour of madness _worthless and useless

IV. You heard
My heart is a cemetery of dead thoughts, of you
In you,and this why you run into me with ruin when your memories vanish with the echoes of littered silence pulling you with your nose.
Ah, I could tell with the shape of your footprints_
This place you call home, dear shadow,
is now a chemistry of the unknown.

V. But walls they say, have ears too and days like this are too risky to hang my portraits into the gossips of the cobwebs, because the weight of the world on my shoulder is too
heavy. to bear bare.
perhaps I need to let go of the heavens on my palm.on it scale of time. till.it. Scale through it scale?

VI.
Yes!
Let this pictures of me remain worthless to even the gods, when this revelation of healing arrives once more, let me embrace my skin in it real color ,for skins are scriptures of heaven holding our soul together in dust till days it becomes the
soil sole.

VII.
Let me neglect these things that makes us
Strangers to ourselves, and how it shapes us
Into Little rivers flowing into bigger rivers ,then
reckless abandoned

Because sometimes
Our unrealistic intuition
are host of locusts.
reducing us into dust,
our vague images about our self,
are lifeless semens
Crucifying us before our birth.

All lies
All lies
All fake pictures.