The Splinter
The existence, always swivels on pain.
Steps, and steps again....
We do not know where they lead us,
It's as the days crumbles,
and we must live with an iron splinter,
wear it, feel it continually.
It makes forget , sometimes
to the red sun of love,
but soon reappears,
when wounds are bleeding.
Crossing the thongue
We just only have
to drink our own blood.
-
RC
(originally written in french... write me if you want the oiginal version )
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