Melancholia

A little piece of my heart has dropped into these pieces of madness. I think that all great poetry comes from a little bit of madness and sorrow. I not only speak of poems and stories. But also about pictures, architecture, and life. The idea of a perfect life is just so insane and far beyond who we really are. Little human beings with an idea. An idea that is so insane that nobody can live up to that idea(l). Please enjoy my little piece of insanity.

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4. Cold eyes

 

The knife in my hand

The blood on the floor

The pain from my neck

 

I knew it was time

To face the death

And look him directly in his cold eyes

And smile

 

I do not pray for the death

I know they are in a good place

I pray for the living

Who all must suffer pain and sorrow

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