Was it life—so deep, couldn’t pledge to nothing else?
It was life, my son.
At a myrtle tree, listening to a cat, fleeing myself.
Scraping gravity, sore inside, at Love, eyes wide opened.
We used to eat candy, it became sour, we now eat life.
I feel detached. Life is full of it. I keep bowing to her. It infuriates.
I knew her, like an aloof relationship, like sickness, we mire each other.
What was it, a diamond, irreplaceable pain, an avalanche, God!
Can’t tolerate it, forced to accept it, I hope it feels perfect.
We all prayed for winnings, some began to win, many clashed against winnings.
You stood out, that’s why I loved you.
You debated God, that’s why I respected you.
You hated ignorance, that’s how I saw underrated.
Born to die, period!
In sensing you, I felt something special. Something that outlives depression. To outwit her. To feel blessed in you.
To adore you, with motive, sort of selfish, to have you complete my sentences.
You were found, maybe unruly, nevertheless, you gave life, cherished gems, withstood pain.
