SATURDAY NIGHT
A rainbow stares at me born from my coffee glass.
I smoke my cigarette with a black and white attitude.
I dress my self like painting a melancholic canvas.
I am under self and world destructive mood.
The night hides my injured feelings
and the tears that run like warm sea from my eyes.
I am counting wounds that need healings,
as i walk out the door,another guilty day dies.
Saturday night like a big,awkward theater stage,
with actors forgetting their small role.
Another night,another empty page,
another dive to my hearts black hole.
As i return to my home,i feel alone.
My self on mute,my favorite suit.
My dreams left me,they are now gone.
And me, here in the death of the night,
eating passion fruit.
Poetry by AFRODITE STATHI
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Written on 2021-11-15 at 08:40
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