No knives sharper than letting go
Cutting conciousness into pieces
Tearing beauty into mess as it lashes
Even eight to five pace won't cure
And sanity forces all be unsure
Smoke nine till they turn into ashes
As I lay down, waiting to perish
Whisper me dear, is there
any necessity to revive?
It's merely the
sharp knife of a short life
KAMU SEDANG MEMBACA
Lutalica (Cerpen+Puisi)
Historia CortaEnthralling cover by: @kiranada Antologi puisi kedua. Lutalica: rambler . rover . straggler . stray . wanderer. The part of identity that doesn't fit into categories. Seperti Klexos, hanya arsip cerpen dan puisi; lama maupun baru. Masih seputar hika...
