Rocks gathered to imitate a graveyard,
Whispering souls screaming for a fierce wind,
As if today, a copy of tomorrow, will never end,
And yesterday was the prologue of a sadistic trilogy.
Indeed, what awaits unfortunate beings
Is an inevitable dimensionless black hole,
Where tombstones whisper in the depths of gardens,
And here I am ripping pockets for penniless donations.
Tuesday, 31st of March 2015