Night talks.

All the times I stood behind my window.
Longing for keen talks with the night’s hero.
Striking the universe with my distressing quietness.
Then pouring my heart out in the dark emptiness.
Asking the sombre ocean to bandage my invisible scars.
And the stories of myself were sheltered in shooting stars.
And with the nocturnal nature my soul had had a slow walk.
Now the moon is patched with the words of my self-talk.
Shining my dreams with rays of reloaded hope and faith.
Now I’m seeing beauty and grace, even in the past’s wraith…

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Inside my head.

Chaos…
Eruptions…
Blatant scenes from the past…

It all occurred inside my head.
Now, all your memories are dead.
Fumes of burnt letters.
Ruins of smashed armors.
Triggered acerbic words.
Said only by dull cowards.
Floating feathers of steep dreams,
where you rolled away in streams
Of odourless scents of a bittersweet past.
Good thing is bad things don’t last.
Stout souls are forever remembered.
And prayers are always answered.
But bastards get burnt in hell.
Detained in a lethal fiery cell...