Suffering is not poetic now.
It's just a pressure, aching in your throat that you have to bow.
"Things get better", that's what i hear, i hope it is a true vow.
I realized i have some fresh wrinkles on my forehead,
Is it because all that happened or should i put the blame to the habit of my eyebrows?

Silly 5 year old me, such a great pity,
For him to think he could fill the deep hole carefully,
By pleasing forbidden bodies, intuition was screaming for him to flee,
No danger sign warned against transformation into something he never ever meant to be.

When lights of our stars collide,
Only for it to provide some lust and a bit of pride.
All of the storm and misery we set aside,
Touching others just caused more times that we lied.
All heavy chests that yearn for love suffer from this viral infection although hardspun masks try to hide.

The saviour that quiet boy longed for decades and years,
Was all along his future mirror stepping into being twenty-something after a billion tears.
The one that would give him all the love he had ever feared,
Was his own bleeding heart caged in reseda - at least now for me, it cheers.

Every translation is an act of betrayal.
That pain in your semantical chest, such a precious tutorial.
Creating a new product just for the target or remaining loyal,
A choice of yours, to be a bridge, to be medial...

It got too old, to be stuck between target and source,
Sometimes it flows as a river, and then all eyes can sense the force.
Regaining what was buried under your soul, the skopos,
And maybe that's why you found strength to delete those photos.

While robots translate texts without feeling,
Nida created what we call the equivalent effect, for months; he was trying.
Creativity is a sick man now, bleeding from coughing,
Perhaps dictionary cycles exist to be completed.

Weighed tons as I walked stuck with it, the glue.
It was dyed blue, I must be well but can anyone cure this chronic flu?
No medicine there to fill that void like affection do.
I want to break the cycle of having no clue,
From this stuck pattern, turning it into geranium from that past navy blue.

I walked through many paths,
Hoping that I'd end up with what I wanted to get,
Like a cat running after a rotten rat,
While fate gave its biggest laugh, watching me from above as it sat.

I found myself in the same doorway,
Even after a million decisions and decades worth of actions,
So scared to step in that hallway,
I turned my back on it and walked against the day.

The thickest wall built on earth,
Giving up against the fear of being third,
Perhaps I'm just setting a dam against my destined mirth,
An already written holy fate is dragging me toward a rebirth.

That insistent path could be my saviour, for certain.
I guess it's time for me to change the weather,
And perhaps it's time for me to open new gates, open my eyes or just open the curtains.
I guess I just wanted to hold onto that one I need to burn, that decade old wormy letter.

Locking every door and throwing away the key,
Was all along the necessity for one to be-
Able to bud in the new beginnings in which one needs to be.
That lost one who found a new hive after flying for 40 days, a honeybee
Loyalty, resignation, embracing, and acceptance all are for that holy & aware entity.

Confusions flooding in, even semantics doesn't have a clue,
Rising complexities, guardian angels don't know what to do,
After a thousand knots, now into the light I see.
Planting new perspectives hoping they'll reach the edge of the galaxy.

Built as a broadcast delay, I could touch the tension in those stares,
When I found myself being -once again- late.
No warning signs exist against the struggle to radicate,
For once, thought printing machine of mine had better not create a bait.

I still believe in euphoria,
Just like I believed in you, for ya.
I was making love with your idea,
With bursting passion, a complete aria.

Healing takes time, they say.
Now it is high time I went on with this day:
Finally being present, taking time to smell the leaves of bay,
I dare say, the infinite maze finally paid.