We, old fishes, are fed up of untangling hooks.
Giving up on desperation leads you to a free way of emptiness, ice and coldness.
Disappointment sharpens your need for loyalty and sick devotion.
Anything else is bullshit.
Darkness impregnates your organs like a thick, warm, slow venom… blinding your sight with a black parade of disturbing ghosts and anxious demons.
Loneliness and unconfidence are your only weapons. Bleeding, melting maroon peonies, creating granate muddy paddles all along your arteries, soaking your feet as you walk by… but you don’t mind. The wetness of your remorse-flavoured past, stabs you right in your liver, squeezing the inflammation, pouring that foul, sweet smell of broken dreams.
And when you think you’re strong enough to carry on your shoulders all this doom, to declare yourself abandoned zone and “beware of the monster” zone.
And with you, the light.