For the lonely list on a tree I pray
To become madness in front of brain tray;
Friday’s evolving, Saturday’s lost,
Sunday is empty – what is the cost?
Homeless illusions and hundreds of tears
Becoming my illness, and yours – just worst fears.
Forwarding words into faceless malditos,
I curse all what’s taken and thirst for revenge…
Erasing all thoughts I imagine the picture,
Where none of my words can be ever explained:
Friday is finished, Saturday’s – fiction,
And Sunday is lying in front of my head…
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