What it means is that I waited,
As I previously mentioned, waiting is an independent action that is not necessarily connected to the awaited. It is a state of feeling that accepts expansion and relaxation, as well as anger and frustration. And I waited for a long time. When I say "a long time," my intestines lengthen like a magical blink in front of my eyes, captivating me and sending me to the world of figs, to that light pink color and those I call acquaintances—they almost become that.
They intertwine like I feel my intestines intertwining. I also go to a world crowded with the croaking of green frogs and the stickiness of their skin. They vomit occasionally, soft and smooth, with the smell of intestines associated with the aroma of barley beer, the noise of colleagues at work, and the drunkenness of the fattest man in the office... A memory resembling a printer that knows no selection, taking no responsibility as long as the ink flows uninterrupted.
I didn't intend to condense the waiting period into two sentences,But it seems I got engrossed in catching flies,The bored frog is saturated with desires,Yet it prefers the pleasure of a wayward fly,Savoring it at leisure.
YOU ARE READING
Taste Of Anger
PoetryI choose anger instead of sorrow I prefer madness over sadness I never want to be a victim. cover © : SIILDA
