Hell

That would not be so far,
Away from the shining star.
Will heal and cure every scar.
And let me stay close.

I wouldn’t be so afraid
My soul is on trade,
And the devil already paid
With mornings, blooming rose.

A Sunday

I can give her a hug
She would love it.
I will walk away from room
Wouldn’t remember a bit.

I can give her gifts
She would smile and
Put it in the corner
Making again, empty hand

I can wish, give a card
She would see the beauty,
Not the heart.
I am guilty.

Happy your day mum.
You made it not yours.
Worries, money, obligations
And lots of infected love,
Impure, unsure, never cures.

Last word

If we could ever talk,
Ask our fantasy,
What would they say?
If we could ever think,
Pretend the pretending can speak,
What would be a day.
And when it will die,
End up with cry.
Of broken heart,
He was thousand miles apart.
Us and fantasy,
What if it could see.
“if I don’t survive,
Thanks for creating me.”