Here come the strings, the rope...
Plucking in my ears,
The tears rolling,
My friend, it's so clear.
They coil between my fingers,
Awaiting my next choice,
It calls as a cello would,
But less music, more noise.
I stand on this chair,
Still with the weight,
With my body burning,
With sadness and hate.
Now the stings coil my neck,
Just one slip,
Is all it takes.
The bells rings to me like death does,
But more of the strings the devil's fiddle plucks.
Would it be a sin?
If I let death win?
Or live in a world,
That has become my hell...
YOU ARE READING
Life
Puisi"Life isn't always what it seems, it's what you feel is your own reality "
