BeginningThe end begins as it pulls me towards her. Like the course of the river and I am just another fallen leaf floating along, waiting.
She is not death.
She is fading.
She is not fear.
She is not soothing.
She is not here.
Her hair does not smell of ashes nor flowers. Her eyes does not look like the bottomless pit of fire and hell, neither are they green. She would never betray me, neither would she never love me. For she does not exist. Thus a fantasy is there to replace reality.
The beginning with a start in the middle of a nothing.
Poetry by Ĺvald Norén
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Written on 2013-05-31 at 13:39
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