For a person with cheery aims of permanence
Looking at death faces of evanescence
Smokes and mists far past behind
Coming to make the end of a nonsense
Irreality soaks blood and dust
Covering all along your ways and facial features
That piece of paper, thread and ink
Won't transform your future
Your days, belong to your mouth
The disturb created by such a damnation
The fate is uncorruptly carved
Below
Your lips. Your teeth
Mark the beginning and the end of the vastest
Empire
Men in quarrel
Crushed noises
Cracked noses
At your smile disposal.
And you writing about it all
as the craftsman, drown in inks
intending gravity in the slumber
Finding it as a tragedy to go by
In a systematic way that condemns
Those ones who are carried away
The ones that didn't resist
All is stated
Who will be the next fool
believing in smiles, and not in books ?
Who will be the next craftsman ?
Not to fade away
Being well harnessed
Until the tempest time of winter
When human eat raw.
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