89. Tired
Deadly tired, sorted out and all washed up
I stagger blindly through the alley
blindfolded by life, like some forgotten addict
struck by sudden total hopeless cruel amnesia
with completely lost identity as a result,
completely devastated like some ruined zombie,
but whatever happened to me?
It was just a seizure, just a normal fit,
it happens normally to anyone,
there is no person so complete and perfect
that he doesn't quite occasionally have fits,
and I am just another one of them,
a mortal nobody, who every now and then
is good for nothing else than just to go to bed.
Poetry by Christian Lanciai
Read 872 times
Written on 2006-08-27 at 20:04
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