Already Late

Upon the last whitish feeble light
Crooked eyes get tired;
Time, you’re always only a cross
Ruthlessly executing my fading verses
When my will leans outwards and I passively stroll
To be food for the cruel morning hunger.
I linger besides an unusual famine, different
And holding on to a jester’s corpse,
Hesitant and sublime, I hold my composure,
Coherently for lies already shook me
As I looked for the roses’ thorns,
Those I see crackling through the flames
Though the whole cosmos is silent above
And I confine it out of my thoughts
But reluctant I cease my breath and stop
As a black sun rises from below
Upon the last screamed voices.
Defeated eyes close, for good,
And Faith, you’re just a crutch
I refuse to take, even lame
And I’ll sink in a bucket of salt,
Demonstration of a mere memory
Virgin of love, aware of it all,
For nothing dwells in this bone cage
And then on the last sign, the same gesture
The man dreams are murdered.
Life, you do are the excellent approaching
Of an entropic journey to the void.