It’s quite late; night lost the light
Alone, by the tide, I sit low
Holding my cards close to heart
Trying best to find condemned ways to fight this game.
He’s an artist
Hides his eyes, disguising the defeat
It’s sickening how the senses decouple words, dulling my voice
There’s an urge, an incessant need to beat destiny
Preponderating-
I meditate on those paintings, sublimating blossoms of love
Slowly unfurling gentle
Flowers, glittery sunrays, deep blood-bound kisses
I zone out;
Find myself in an unending maze—the cosmic chessboard
The sky turned fuscous, waves splashed like thunder—creviced my heart with dread
The truth sharpens, past denunciantes—seizing seconds of time
I see drowning myself to those darkest waves-
Jarred from the abyss-
He is an artis
Amiss
The void silence was never a recede; it shrank more, haunted treading
Close call
Prickling my skin, a cold sweat swerves
The storm rises, showing its perilous moves
The last, desperate, dying chance
The
Final showdown.
