terça-feira, 13 de março de 2007

Poetry that does not rhyme: Choices of instinct

Saw her moving her blonde hair one side to another.
Got myself excited by the idea she could be mine.
Started moving slowly to her.
Watching ever move she makes.
Noticing every breathe she takes.
As I climb my ladder of regret she looks at me.
My strength grows weaker and weaker.
Her eyes imprisoned me.
Got me thinking on my freedom.
And I slowly backed down.
Should I trade my soul for such a beautiful princess?
Think not.
Rather be loved by a slave than being one.
Looking at her once again made me say to myself:
“Fuck Freedom.
We all die alone.
Why waste my life grateful by the one thing I don’t even enjoy?”
Ok, let’s go.

1 comentário:

bitterzoet disse...

Hmm , curioso este texto :'D