Don't leave. Stay.
The night is deeper
when your voice remains inside mine
and our eyes are staring at
the demons stalking stealthy
in the middle of the mist.
Don't leave. Stay.
Why yield to rose of the day
this land opened by dint of
dark thorns?
What remains after the getaway?
Where are those of us who came once,
opened our maws, roaring our veins,
over a words ocean
made of flesh and blood?
Don't leave. Stay.
Don't you see how painful is the silence
more than this shrillness
from dead voices,
fading away every entry
blocked by so much
died flowers as the death?
Don't leave. Stay.
And they will know that the heaven
can be burning in spite of rain,
in spite of cold,
in spite of lots of words
spreading
with no sense,
lots of word
with no voice
as a supporting.
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