Am i i ntricate or despondent??
I know these questionsdo not bother you.
I know I am the one who is,obsolete?
The one getting finished like a burning log,
Half forgotten like the civilisations no one read about, half visible through the meshwork of december fog..
Is it anguish or a misconception that is killing me from inside?
Am i the one spreading her arms towards the vast expanse of the sky above?
Is it a choice or a force that leads you to change?
Am i the one who is alone? Or am i the one who is not permitted to love..
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